Infinity leaned against a tree near the bridge-in site and observed the refugees. There were now over two hundred, and the newest group of twenty were just starting to lapse into somber silence as they realized their hopes for an easy life here had been squashed. Most of the men were sitting or lying on the ground, talking quietly with one another or trying to catch a few minutes of sleep. While the men seemed content being idle, the women had joined together in a coordinated effort to gather grasses, which they were weaving into mats to sit on. Some had even created wrap-around skirts. The women, it seemed, were not only less tolerant of idleness, they were less willing to sit bare-assed in the dirt and dead leaves. This was probably good because in a few months cold weather would come, and the ability to make clothing might save these colonists’ lives. The refugees would also have to master a reliable fire-starting technique. And they’d need insulated shelters, enough for over seven hundred people. And they would need warm clothing.
SafeTrek had provided regular survival training sessions for refugees waiting in the makeshift encampment outside the compound. Most of these people, however, probably hadn’t bothered to attend the sessions.
Infinity sighed and rubbed her scalp. Her lack of sleep was catching up with her, and the multitude of uncertainties about this situation were making it difficult to pick a course of action. Until Desmond returned with more information about the wild land, though, she could at least start training the refugees in some basic skills.
She pushed away from the tree. “I need fifteen volunteers to learn a set of survival skills and then teach what you’ve learned to the others.”
Over two hundred refugees turned and stared at her in silence.
“Since we don’t know what you’ll be faced with in the coming days, we’ll begin with how to make a fire.”
Still they stared.
One hand went up. “I’ll volunteer,” the woman said.
A man got to his feet. “I’ll do my best.”
Infinity crossed her arms and waited. One at a time, people continued volunteering until there were enough.
“Follow me.” Infinity made her way through the brush with the volunteers until they were at least fifty yards from the bubble, in case the mongrels had a problem with humans making fire. Once the volunteers had gathered around, she said, “Basically, you have three choices: a fire plow, a bow and drill, or a two-man friction drill. All three involve creating heat from the friction of wood against wood. I prefer a bow, but for that you’d need strong cord made from animal hide or dried intestines. That’s something you’ll want to obtain later. For now, we’ll work with what we have. You’re going to need a wood base, a friction stick, tinder, kindling, and fuel, and procuring each of those involves its own set of skills. We’ll start with the wood base and stick.”
She proceeded to show them how to search for the driest wood, which was usually on the interior of dead limbs that had not yet fallen to the ground. She found a thick limb about seven feet from the ground and instructed several of the heavier men to pull down on it, aiming to split it at the base, creating a flat wood surface. Once they had done this, she used a sharp-edged rock to gouge a groove the length of the dry interior wood.
Next she located a relatively straight stick less than an inch in diameter and blunted the end by rubbing it against the rock. She demonstrated how to use the stick as a plow, pushing it quickly and repeatedly along the groove, which not only created heat from friction, but also created wood dust that would eventually become embers.
Next came one of the more challenging tasks—finding suitable tinder. The best material for this was a wad of cotton from the cottonwood tree, but the trees had shed their cotton several months ago, in June. The best alternative was dry, crumbled leaves. She showed them how to find the driest leaves and how to grind them up by rolling them between their palms.
As the refugees set about doing this, a loud chattering drew their attention to the mongrel bubble. Infinity moved close enough to see what was happening. The noise was coming from birds. Hundreds of them, and more were streaming in every second, joining the others on the ground to one side of the bubble.
“They’re feeding,” said a woman standing beside Infinity. “The mongrels probably feed them at a certain time every day. That’s how they know to come here all at once.”
The birds kept pouring in until they were scrambling over each other to get to whatever food the mongrels had provided. Blue jays, red cardinals, yellow finches, black and brown birds of several types, all of them chittering and scrabbling for their share.
Watching the spectacle, Infinity couldn’t help but think of the herd of painted humans. A foreboding chill surged through her as the reality of their situation set in—the mongrels probably considered humans to be little more than local wildlife coming to a backyard feeder. Was this to be the future of the colony? Would they end up living as wild creatures, fighting over scraps of food?
Gradually, the birds began to disperse, having depleted the food.
“The herd’s coming back,” said the woman next to Infinity.
Six painted men were walking toward the main mass of refugees. The painted men were led by Nehemiah, whose yellow limbs and black torso contrasted with his companions’ wildly varying colors. Nehemiah spotted Infinity and changed direction, heading straight for her.
She heard the refugees behind her rooting around for rocks, and she instructed them to hold steady. Nehemiah and his companions weren’t carrying rocks and didn’t appear to be looking for trouble.
Nehemiah stopped a few yards away. He made a show of placing a palm over his mouth, pointing with his other hand to an area farther from the mongrels. He and his group began walking in that direction. He turned and gestured for Infinity to follow.
Infinity didn’t move. “What do you want?” she asked.
Nehemiah flinched as if she’d yelled in his ear. He glanced at the bubble and then whispered, “I’d fancy a powwow with you and your herd if you’ll grant it. Out of mongrel earshot.”
Infinity turned to the refugees beside her. “Care to join me?”
“I don’t see what these primitives can possibly offer us,” one of the men said. “When we’re all here, we’ll march to the nearest city and make our case for integration.”
Apparently some of the refugees weren’t yet aware of the deep shit they were in. And there wasn’t time now to explain.
“Stay here if you want,” Infinity said. She followed the natives. She heard feet shuffling through the leaves behind her as at least some of the refugees followed.
Nehemiah and his group stopped when the bubble was well out of view, perhaps 150 yards out. His companions sat down in a row on a long fallen log, but he continued standing, his hands clasped together in front of his painted crotch.
Nehemiah cleared his throat. “What possesses you folks to speak in the mongrels’ presence?”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Infinity asked.
Nehemiah creased his brows. “I don’t give a care if you’re looking to transfigure your whole herd into varmints, but you’re just as likely to befall the same fate upon our herd. We won’t abide it.”
“What do you mean?” Infinity asked. “Pretend like we know nothing about the mongrels, which is true.”
The man studied her for a moment as if trying to decide whether she was lying. “The mongrels don’t fancy human speech.”
“Why not?”
“Fiddlesticks, woman. The why of it don’t matter. It’s what the mongrels will do that matters. I’m here to implore you to hold your tongues in the mongrels’ vicinity lest you bring their wrath upon us all.”
Infinity hesitated, but then she nodded. “I’ll tell my people to minimize their talking.”
Nehemiah nodded back. He then glanced at his painted companions before going on. “Our herd’s been settled in this bailiwick for nigh on seven years. We’ve run afoul of raiding herds time and again, upon which we drove them away or smote them f
rom existence. Never has a musk monkey interfered in these affairs. We’re confounded by this turn of events. Pray tell us, what are your intentions?”
One of the men behind Infinity spoke up. “We intend no harm to you or your herd. We only wish to wait for all our people to arrive, and then we’ll leave. We’ll go to the nearest city if you’d be kind enough to tell us how to get there.”
Nehemiah frowned. “Cities ain’t real. They’re the stuff of stories we tell our young ’uns at nightfall.”
A long silence followed.
“What’s the biggest town you know of?” the refugee asked. “The biggest settlement or village?”
Nehemiah scrunched his mouth to one side, forming a sneer. “You hard of hearing? Ain’t no cities. Ain’t no towns.”
One of the refugee women said, “If there are no cities here, then what’s the plan?”
The refugees all started asking questions at once, and Infinity turned and held up both her hands to silence them. She turned back to Nehemiah. “To answer your question, we won’t know what our intentions are until we know more about this world. We have to find a place where seven hundred of us can establish a colony. We’ll do whatever we have to do to make that happen. We’ll even fight if we have to.” Perhaps the natives would be more helpful under the threat of violence.
Nehemiah glared at her without blinking. After several long seconds he said, “We’ve a notion to parley. Will you hear us out?”
Infinity nodded.
“Nineteen young ’uns. Aged three to ten.”
Infinity stared at the man. “Excuse me?”
“You can have them all if you leave us be—go your way and seize another bailiwick.”
“You want to give us nineteen children?”
Nehemiah nodded once. “That’s all we got.”
“Why would we want your children?”
The man furrowed his brows in puzzlement. “You don’t seem to have none of your own. Birthing them ain’t allowed in most other bailiwicks. Nineteen young ’uns is a fair deal.”
“Are you for real?” asked a woman behind Infinity.
Again Infinity silenced the refugees, this time with gritted teeth.
“We got nothing else to give you,” Nehemiah said. “You’ll find the young ’uns to be useful. Or you could trade them away if need be. It’s a fair deal.”
Infinity wasn’t sure how to respond. She studied Nehemiah for a moment. He looked to be about fifty, although in his smudged and weathered state, he could have actually been in his thirties. “We don’t have a need for your children. But thanks for the offer. What we need is a place where seven hundred people can live.”
“Our mongrels provide hardly enough for our herd, and we’re but 254. If you seize our bailiwick, you’ll find it sorely wanting in sustenance.”
Infinity chewed her lip, thinking. This situation wasn’t getting any better. If Desmond returned with bad news about the wild land, what options would be left? “Nehemiah, do you think we could reason with the mongrels, convince them to provide sustenance for a larger group? If so, then we could join forces with you. Your herd would be almost a thousand strong. You’d never again have to worry about another herd seizing your bailiwick.”
Nehemiah and the other painted men stared back at her with pursed lips, as though wondering if she were insane.
“Infinity?” the woman behind her said. “I don’t speak for everyone, but I’m sure most of us have no intention of living like this herd of wild animals.”
Infinity wheeled around. “Shut the hell up!” She was struggling to keep her voice low. “First, don’t antagonize them. Second, you may not get to choose how you live. Maybe this isn’t what you expected, but it’s what you’ve got. Your survival is what matters now. Everything else can come in its own time.”
The woman’s eyes widened. She turned abruptly and stomped off—in a prudent, tenderfoot sort of way—back toward the other refugees.
As Infinity watched her go, she heard a swelling of voices filter through the forest from the bridge-in site. Group twelve had arrived. Infinity wouldn’t be needed, though—she’d assigned a guy named Oliver Hanley to orient the newcomers in Arty’s absence. She turned back to Nehemiah.
But then the voices from the bridge-in site surged to an alarming level.
“Infinity!” It was the woman who’d just stomped off.
Infinity whipped around again, her gut tightening. A deer ran by, followed by two more. A pack of smaller animals came hurtling through the forest after them—coyotes, foxes, raccoons, and other creatures bounding by too fast to identify. Birds, both large and small, flew overhead, squawking and twittering. All the animals were headed directly away from the bridge-in site.
“Mongrel shenanigans,” Nehemiah said.
The other natives were now on their feet. “Speaking’s what done it,” one of them said. “There’ll be hell to pay now.”
Without waiting for further explanation, Infinity took off running for the bridge-in site, drawn by increasingly frantic cries of terror and pain. She passed more fleeing animals and nearly tripped over a dog as it switched directions at the last moment in its panic. Refugees began running past her, their eyes wide with fear.
“What’s happening?” she cried. They didn’t answer.
She stopped twenty yards from the mongrels’ bubble. Most of the refugees had scattered, but at least fifty were cowering in a huddle beside the bridge-in site. Several others were sprawled on the ground writhing in pain. Infinity stared. What the hell was wrong with them? And then it hit her—the writhing refugees were transforming, quickly becoming things not human.
A man lying at the edge of the bridge-in site suddenly stopped squirming. His body split into smaller parts, and as Infinity watched, each part became an animal. A creature that may have been a badger took off from where the man’s leg had been, nearly running headlong into the huddled refugees, and prompting another chorus of cries. Several large black birds lifted off from the spot with raucous calls, leaving behind all that was left of the man—a pile of arm-sized fish flopping on the ground.
The same thing was happening to each of the other refugees sprawled on the ground, a sight so bewildering that Infinity felt her mind lapsing into a defensive state of denial. But the scene before her was real. It had to be. She had heard Abel’s words, and she’d seen Gavin transform into a deer—she knew she wasn’t hallucinating.
“God help us!” a woman cried.
Infinity tore her eyes away from a swarm of insects rising from a transforming mass of flesh that used to be a refugee. Just as she spotted the woman who had cried out, a projectile from the mongrel’s bubble splattered against the side of the woman’s neck.
The woman wiped at the spot it had hit and stared at her hand. “No!” she cried. She stumbled toward Infinity but didn’t get more than a few steps before going down, twitching like she was having a seizure.
Infinity ran toward the remaining huddled refugees, waving her arms to catch their attention. She put a finger to her lips, still waving her other hand. She wanted to scream shut the hell up but didn’t dare open her mouth.
Several of the refugees saw her and quieted down, shaking the shoulders of those within reach and signaling for them to shut up. Gradually, the entire group became silent except for muffled weeping.
With her finger still to her lips, Infinity turned to the mongrels’ bubble. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw at least one of them moving just beyond the membrane, a slight rhythmic fluctuation in the translucent fluid. She turned and scanned the surrounding forest. How many refugees had escaped? And how many had been killed, the victims of mongrel shenanigans? No way to know until the others came back. If they came back.
Silently, she watched the last few writhing refugees until their bodies’ components had run, flown, crawled, or slithered away.
13
Reason
September 2 - 9:06 AM
Desmond felt another hand car
ess his scalp from behind. He glanced back. This time it was the emaciated, brown-skinned man named Resolve.
“How’d you shear it so short?” he asked.
“I didn’t have to shear it. This is a result of the way we travelled to here. It’s called bridging, and it strips away our clothing and hair.” Desmond nodded toward Resolve’s erratically-cropped hair. “Why do you all keep your hair so short?”
Resolve grunted. “Hair’s a domicile for lice. You ain’t got lice where you’re from?”
Desmond considered explaining that lice were easily controlled by medication but decided against it. These people obviously had no such medicines. He decided instead to ask, “Why don’t you just shave your hair completely?”
“If I could do that, don’t you think I would? Respect used to have a steel blade,” he nodded toward the man walking about ten yards in front of them. “Kept it honed sharper than a kestrel’s talon. Mongrels caught wind of it, though. Sent that damn vassal, Abel, their musk monkey squire, to take it.”
Desmond glanced back at Abel, who was following the group far enough back to placate the ferals. “Your group doesn’t even have a knife or razor?” he asked Resolve.
“I just said we used to. Mongrels didn’t fancy our having it.”
Desmond was tempted to ask what tools these ferals did have, but again he decided to keep quiet. He pointed to the woven bag Resolve was carrying over his shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”
Resolve hefted the bag from his shoulder and held it open. It was filled with orange and white mushrooms. Desmond recognized the largest, a chicken of the woods, a blossom-like fungus that looked like it might weigh fifteen pounds on its own. Piled around it were hundreds of smaller orange chanterelles.
“Looks like enough for a feast,” Desmond said.
Resolve closed the bag and lifted it back to his shoulder. “We’ll be drying them in the sun. Sustenance for the winter. If your herd seizes our parcel and cache, I reckon we’ll starve.”
The wild land’s prospects were looking increasingly bleak. “We don’t want to seize anything from anyone.”
Bridgers 3_The Voice of Reason Page 11
