The Long Walk Home

by Ison, S. A.

  He’d have to touch the clothing when he got a chance. It intrigued him. He took note that one of these people, the man whose woman had died, wore something on his face. The front was clear, but shiny. He wondered at it. He’d watched the man take them off and put them back over his eyes. Very curious. There was so much to see and try to understand, that it made his mind swim, like the small fish in the streams and rivers.

  There were two women who looked like his people, but their eyes were smaller and a little different. The tall man with them, also look much like his people. He wondered at that. He’d also seen the black man and the white man kissing. The People had ones like that. So, the people from the between had them as well. These people were like his own, but so much more different.

  The things they had with them, the boxes with light, light so bright, it hurt his eyes. The elders warned never to take anything from them. It might send their own people to the between and perhaps gone forever. No one wanted the between ghost people, they brought bad things. Many of the People had become sick from the between people generations ago. There had been many conflicts over the items the between ghost people brought, so the between people had to leave their world.

  It was a special honor to guide the between out and away. It was dangerous, because some of the between killed the People, through either accident or misunderstandings or disease that the people from the between brought with them. Each chosen warrior was to lead the betweens away, and find the passage back to the between’s ghost world and away from his own.

  Dustu’s friend, Inola, who followed behind him was near, he was sure. Though he didn’t see Inola, he knew his friend was somewhere close. It was a comfort, because being around these ghost people, made him nervous. The warrior, Inola, was never to reveal himself. Inola was only to kill the ghost people if Dustu died. Inola was not to lead them out. If Dustu couldn’t do it or died. Then all of the ghost people would die. That had been made very clear to both men. Dustu would also stay in isolation for two moons once he delivered the between people to their ghost world.

  He was not to have contact with the People, nor Inola until then, to ensure no sickness followed him, nor the bad or evil spirits that might remain with Dustu, who could inadvertently take them back to his people. He shuddered at the thought. He’d not want his wife or baby to die because of these people. Inola would head home before him, letting the tribe know that the ghost betweens had been delivered to the passage or killed. It was a delicate balance. Alone, Dustu knew that he could die. But he was a strong man and the forest was his friend, his brother. His wife had packed him food and he knew what food there was to eat in the forest. The plants and fungi.

  The people from the betweens came every seven years. Sometimes there were a few, sometimes there were many. It was a long walk to the opening that would rid his people of this trouble. The difficulty is getting the between people there. Making themselves understood. He’d been taught words that was said to help. He didn’t understand them, but had memorized the words that would be said. He often wondered why his people just didn’t obliterate them. He thought perhaps that it would be bad in some way. Bad for his own people.

  He was fortunate, the between ghost man that looked like one of the People and had spoken his language, though he’d had an accent with it, like a child speaking it. He didn’t know a lot of words, but they were able to communicate. He could smell these people and though they didn’t stink, they did smell different. The aromas assaulted his nose. His hand came up to rub his nose, but he stopped. He’d not want to insult these people.

  He felt the heat of their gazes and he now smelled fear. It was sour and pungent. He took note that the between people were quick to fear. They had many things with them and it amazed him to look upon it all. It was like magic to him and now he understood that the stories had been true, though difficult to believe.

  xx

  Beckett smiled reassuringly to the group, they all sat silent, waiting. He wanted to weep with joy, they were going home. They were going back to their time. The man had said his name was Dustu and Beckett knew that meant frog, at least he thought it meant frog. Dustu had spoken English, he was able to speak several words to get across his meaning. It was clear, the man didn’t know what he was saying and someone had taught the people of this man’s tribe, these specific words.

  Apparently, from the hand gestures and Cherokee, this was a reoccurrence, every seven years. Dustu had said, guide to passage, go back to your time. No come back. Keep secret. It had been enough that Beckett understood that this man was to guide them to a passage in time, back to their own time. He’d gladly get the hell out of there. He wasn’t equipped to live here. As screwed up as his own time was, he’d rather be there.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention?”

  The group quieted and once he was sure they’d hear it all he relayed what he thought Dustu meant.

  “This is Dustu, and apparently he will be leading us out of this place, to a passage back to our time. I don’t understand fully but here are the English words he told me; guide to passage, go back to your time and no come back. He also said to keep it secret. I guess they are afraid someone will want to come back and maybe change history.”

  “I call bullshit. This is some kind of goddamn set up.” Milo barked, his face red.

  Beckett walked over to Milo.

  “Are you that fucking stupid, that you can’t figure something out with your own goddamn eyes and ears?” Beckett asked, his own face red with fury. He’d had all he could take from this nimrod. He wanted to beat the shit out of him.

  “You’re telling me this redskin speaks English?”

  “No, you bigoted fuck, I’m telling you he knows several phrases. He was taught them and it was passed to him to get us out of here.”

  “I’m not a bigot, asshole. And how do you know? You speak Apache?” Milo shot back.

  “No, but I do speak some Cherokee. He said he guides us out. It is a long way, but it’s the other end of whatever we walked into. He said his people have been doing this many generations, ten grandfathers worth.”

  Milo snorted and Dustu said something.

  “Hawa, is okay?” Dustu asked.

  Beckett grunted and pointed to Milo, “Ostu vitla, no good.”

  Dustu grunted in understanding, and it didn’t need translating. Beckett was sure Dustu had run into assholes.

  “What? What did you say?” Milo asked, looking between the two men.

  “I told him you were an asshole.” Beckett said and watched as Milo turned bright red, but said nothing.

  “Okay, so, I guess we pack up and leave out of here. I don’t think we have a lot of choices, unless you wish to stay in this time. I know of no other way out of this.” Beckett admitted.

  “Why should we trust him or you?” Milo asked, petulant, still angry about the earlier comment.

  “Milo, stay if you want, but I think the rest of us wish to leave.” Wyatt said and began to pack up his backpack. Around Wyatt, the group began to gather their things, and began to pack quickly. Beckett saw that no one looked at Milo, who turned a more brilliant color by their disregarding attitudes.

  Beckett went to his spot and began picking up the items around the camp. He helped Christy pack her bag and took the majority of the weight in his own, so the child wouldn’t have to carry the heavy pack.

  “Is that your pack?” Christy asked, pointing to the pink backpack.

  “It’s my niece’s. I didn’t want to leave it behind, so I brought it with me. Do you think it matches my eyes?” He grinned down at the little girl, and fluttered his eye lashes.

  She giggled and nodded. He patted her head and helped her on with her pack. It was considerably lighter, and he thought she’d be able to stand it better. He boosted his own pack and felt the extra weight of Christy’s supplies. He glanced over at Milo, who stood looking around at everyone. He’d not moved to pack his things. Beckett snorted in derision.

  “Sge h
a! Come now!” Dustu announced and began walking, not looking back.

  The group fell into step and began to follow. Dustu walked at a moderate step, and used his long stick to move shrubs. The day was lightening up quickly and no one spoke for a long time. The birds began to fill the air around them with their songs and Beckett relaxed, Christy, Zoe and Evie in front of him.

  His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. There was hope now, where there had been despair and fear. Hope that they’d all get out of here. His only sorrow, was that Rhena would be left behind. He knew that had to weigh on Wyatt’s mind and heart.

  He also thought about what Dustu had communicated, every seven years. Jesus. What a nightmare. He was sure of one thing, seven years from now, he’d stay the hell out of this area. For now, however, his heart was light for the first time in days. He felt the responsibility of these people slide from his shoulders. He’d not realized it until Dustu had offered to guide them out, that he carried the burden of these peoples’ survival. It was not a burden he’d wanted, but had taken. Now, Dustu would have the care of getting them the hell out of this place.

  He wanted to shout with joy and laugh like a lunatic. Christ, he’d be free, they’d all get back to their time. He sure as hell hoped that there had been no EMP. And if there hadn’t, he sure as hell planned on getting his bugout bag built and put into his car. He’d not be caught with his pants down, ever again.

  XX

  Dustu had watched the faces of these people. The one, the bad one, Dustu knew that man would be a problem. He’d seen ones like that before, but not many. Most were killed outright, they didn’t know when to shut their mouths. Talking, when silence should instead be found. So far, beyond the looks of these people, their facial expressions were familiar to him. They were different, like the Chickasaw, or Creek, but they were the same as well.

  He was to head southeast and down a rough and dangerous path. He didn’t know the exact way, only the path his elders had told him. It was a dangerous trek, but he was told to either lead them out or kill them all. He’d not enlightened the man called Beckett. No, he’d have to kill Beckett first, he was the deadliest. He’d seen Beckett kill the rabbit. It was a good shot, a clean shot.

  He could only wish that the child was not there. She would be the most difficult kill; his people loved their own children. He’d do it quickly, so as not to cause pain. His elders were very clear, the between ghost people were to leave or die. Dustu was told how the very first betweens came, and many of his own people died from disease. Later, a man, a wise man told the elders that the passage should be kept secret. If more people came from the between, it would be very bad for the People. It would cause great changes that should not happen. There would be people, that should not be there. It had been impressed upon his elders, that these people held great danger to their future.

  His elders told him these between ghost people were weak and if any were to die, that was good. Once more, Dustu wondered why his people didn’t just kill them all and have done with it? Why take these people back? Perhaps in killing them outright would be a dark spot on their own People? He’d seen these people’s equipment and wondered at the materials. The sticks some of the people held, were not wood or bone. He could not determine what they were made of, but was fascinated that they were shiny.

  He’d tell his people once he got back about all the things he saw. Especially the shining boxes of light, that held miniature suns. He wished he could understand their language. At least the Beckett man could understand a little of his People’s language. He looked over his shoulder, and noted that they were keeping up and also silent. He was glad they were silent. They chattered like birds at their camp and they were easy to track, clumsy and loud.

  He was glad there were no enemies around. That might change on their journey. They were going through rough country, he’d never been that way, but he knew of the place his elders spoke of, at least he hoped he did. He was taking these people out of his territory. They were heading into other territories and that was dangerous. He had nothing to trade, and so the people they met would probably try to kill them all. He’d heard of stories where not only the guide had been killed, but the ghost people as well. The ghost people would never be mourned, but the guide had left behind a wife and two small children. That had been in his grandfather’s time.

  He looked around and paused, listening. His eyes searched the forest behind and beyond. Deep in the forest, he saw one of the large mountain cats. It was lazy and sleeping. He didn’t point it out. He was told these ghost people were afraid of animals. He snorted; how could people be afraid of animals? The animals were a part of life, and could you be afraid of life? Were they afraid of trees? He shook his head and then began to walk once more.

  XX

  Milo was livid. Beckett was a pushy do-gooding motherfucker. He’d been a pain in the ass from moment one. He’d had his eye on both the chink gals. But fucking Beckett, guarding them like his own goddamn harem, but doesn’t make a move. And that horse shit about the redskin, Christ, that was some shit. He still didn’t believe it, but they’d all left. He’d sat for a while, but the forest was beginning to close in on him. He felt the hair raise on his body and looked around into the forest, which had become sinister.

  It was quiet and the fire was out. He had a choice to make, either eat his pride and go after them, or keep his course and get to his truck. The only thing was, he didn’t recognize this trail. These trees were huge and without the markers, he was lost. He wasn’t good with either compass or maps and he didn’t think the map would work here.

  A small sane part of his brain said he needed to join the group, that secretive antediluvian part. We don’t go alone, we don’t survive alone, we go in groups, we survive in groups.

  “Shit fire and save matches.” He snarled to himself, and his voice sounded small and hollow in the dense forest. He got up and began to pack quickly. He hoisted the pack on his back and walked quickly after the group. A panic began to rise from his gut, he could not see them. He couldn’t hear them either. What happened if they turned off the trail? What happened if he couldn’t find them? He could hear nothing, he usually heard them talking. Why couldn’t he hear them talking? He could only hear his harsh breath and the blood pounding in his ears.

  His breathing began to come harder and more rapid. His mouth was cotton dry and his legs became weak and shook as he took each step. His heart began to speed up, he didn’t want to be left behind. We don’t go alone, we don’t survive alone, we go in groups and we survive in groups, the air around him whispered. He picked up his pace, now gasping hard and nearly sobbing. Coward, he thought, you’re a fucking coward.

  Through the dense vegetation, he saw the incongruous pink of the backpack and he let out a sigh of relief. Slowing his pace, he caught up easily. He hung back, not wanting the group to know he was behind them. It took some time for him to catch his breath and bring his heart rate down. He wiped angrily at his eyes. Shame burned through him, at his own weakness. He hated Beckett, blaming the man for baiting him.

  No one was talking, all quiet. No one even looked back. For all they knew, he wasn’t there. Rage roiled through him. He was forgotten and no one gave a shit. Once more he felt shame in himself. He was a coward. He didn’t want to be left behind, and he didn’t want to die in this fucking place. If he ever got out of here, he’d never come here again. Christ, he’d stay in the goddamn city. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to believe they were back in time. That sent a shiver through him. There was no way in hell he could survive that. He was a city boy and this was no place for a man to die.

  XX

  Wyatt’s brain was numb, he could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. His Rhena was dead and died most horribly. There had been nothing that he could do for his beloved, nothing. He’d felt less than useless and had died a little as she’d screamed in pain. He felt shame at his inability to help her and he also felt shame for the relief h
e felt when she died. She’d stopped that horrible screaming and she was out of pain.

  Now he left her behind. His heart was glad that he was going back to his own time. But he’d be going alone. What would he do when he got back to their home? His heart hurt and he wiped at his eyes. He tried to focus on the task at hand. Putting one foot in front of the other.

  Before him was a man from another time. It was unbelievable, but there the man was. Wyatt had no doubt what so ever, that this man was not of their own time. The way the man walked and moved. It was so primitive, and there was an unconscious grace to the man, like a predator one watched. Milo was a jackass, and a liability. When he’d looked back, he’d seen the man sneaking up from behind.

  A malicious smile curved on Wyatt’s mouth. He wasn’t normally vindictive, but the little bastard was a snarky little shit. He’d stood around while his wife had died and he’d heard his remarks. He was a bad apple. A useless human being. Wyatt wasn’t ashamed to wish that it had been Milo, instead of his wife, who’d been bitten. But it wasn’t to be, the love of his life was in the ground and that bastard was alive.

  The man in front of him was lean, not an ounce of fat on the man. He wasn’t tall, but he was solidly built. His head was bald, except for the topknot on the man’s head. Wyatt also noted that the man’s head hadn’t been shaved, and Wyatt figured the hair had been plucked out. Dustu’s skin was a red bronze, the muscles beneath smooth and compact. It was like watching a sleek panther walk.

  Wyatt hoped that the group would keep the secret of the time passage, but he thought, that if anyone talked, it would be Milo. The thought of the government going back in time and exterminating the Indians made him shudder. To get a step up on taking over America, before her time? He was pretty sure, every Native American would be eradicated and it would change the course of history and Wyatt didn’t think in a good way.