TRIBES

by Mia Frances

  They hadn't tarried long. As soon as she was out the door, the kids were on their feet, packs in place, ready to go. The food and supplies they carried made them targets, so it was imperative that they put as much distance as possible between themselves and Indian Lake.

  Though they'd cleared the outskirts of town two miles back, they remained on their guard, eyes and ears alert to every sound and every movement. Their silent procession moved quickly through the forest. Driven on by fear, they didn't dare rest.

  Alex gazed down at Derek, his face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, little clouds of vapor forming in the cold air as he panted for breath. They couldn't keep up this grueling pace much longer. She scanned the surrounding woods apprehensively, wondering whether it would be safe to stop now. With only a few more hours of daylight left, she wanted to cover as much ground as possible; but at the same time, pushing the children to the brink of exhaustion was self-defeating. Without rest, the pace would soon slow, their leg muscles cramping, the littlest unable to go on.

  Up ahead, the terrain grew more rocky, as gravel, stones and boulders, having fallen from the cliffs above, blocked and littered the trail. Using them for cover, they could pause to catch their breath, rest their aching limbs, and renew their strength.

  Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they neared the jagged rocks, looming like somber fortresses, havens against the menacing ocean of green that seemed poised to swallow them up. Alex heard something and stopped dead in her tracks, motioning to the children not to move. It sounded like a child weeping. She frantically searched for the source of the sound, but it could have come from anywhere.

  "Charles?" a little voice whimpered.

  Alex listened, trying to decide what to do. It was coming from the rocks ahead and though the voice sounded like a child's, she wasn't taking chances. They'd have to circumvent the trail, hoping that whoever claimed the territory ahead was just as frightened as they were and wouldn't try to attack or come after them. She didn't want a confrontation, thinking in terms of guns and bullets, carnage and death, now. Except for a few knives and axes, they were defenseless. What could those meager weapons do against a rifle that could wound or kill at a 100 paces?

  The sobbing grew louder and more frantic. Alex stared at the rocks, anyone of them capable of concealing a child.

  "Charles?" the voice cried, more frightened than before. "That you?"

  A tiny, cinnamon-colored face, gaunt and hollow-eyed, peeked around the edge of a boulder, then quickly pulled back. Alex hurried everyone off the trail and into the woods, sure that the child was accompanied by adults. Breaking into a run, they clambered down the hill, slipping, sliding, and falling. Fearful that danger would follow, Alex turned back to look over her shoulder, astonished to see a little girl, no older than Derek, bolt from behind the rocks and take off in a run. She wore several layers of clothing, which hung like limp rags on her emaciated frame. Scrambling over the rocks, the little girl kept looking back, afraid she was being chased. Not watching where she was going, her foot wedged between two rocks and she toppled forward.

  Alex watched in concern, waiting for someone to come to the child's aid, but no one did. Nearly hysterical, the little girl managed to wrench her foot free, then, cradling her arm and crying, struggled to her feet and tried to hobble away. The surrounding forest was quiet, devoid of any noise or movement. There was no one else here, the child was alone. Alex couldn't believe it. She took a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. She'd never be able to look herself in the mirror again if she walked away and left the girl. Unconcerned with the possible consequences, Alex went to help her. When the girl saw her coming, she let out a shriek and tried to flee, but the rocks were treacherous and she stumbled again and again.

  "Stop! Stop!" Alex called to her, but the terrified child paid no heed as she frantically tried to escape.

  Exhausted and in pain, the child fell to her knees. She was desperately trying to get back on her feet when she saw the lady coming for her. Cornered, with nowhere left to run, she dragged herself behind a rock and waited, cowering in fear.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," Alex said, keeping her distance so as not to frighten her more. "It's OK. You can come out now." She waited, but the girl didn't budge. The poor little thing was terrified.

  Alex looked around, wondering what she was doing out here all by herself. Where were her parents? She was obviously with someone named Charles, but where was he now? Though Alex was wary, worried that the child's kin might reappear at any minute, she couldn't, in good conscience, just go off and leave her. The girl looked half-starved now; suppose Charles didn't come back?

  Alex walked around the rock and stared down at the cringing child. "What's your name?" she asked gently. The child didn't respond. Alex reached out her hand to the youngster, but that only seemed to frighten her more. She was trembling, but Alex couldn't tell if it was from fear or cold. As she huddled against the rock, Alex noticed that her hands were covered with crusted blood. The left sleeve of her sweatshirt was stained brown, the arm it covered, dangling limply at her side. She moved closer, trying to get a better look, but the little girl shook a threatening fist in her direction. It was then that Alex saw the hole in her sleeve, still wet with fresh blood.

  "It's all right. I won't hurt you," she said, inching nearer. Her attempts at kindness were rebuffed; the child trying to drive her off, slapping and beating Alex back with her fist. Exerting as little force as possible, Alex grabbed her flailing arm and held it fast. The girl wriggled and squirmed, struggling to break free. Her legs kicked the air, fighting to keep her attacker at bay. A sharp pain shot through Alex's shin as a foot found its intended target. Pulling her up by the arm, Alex yanked the girl to her feet, only to have her land another kick, this time to Alex's knee.

  Seizing her around the waist, Alex lifted her off the ground, but subduing the child wouldn't be easy. Spurred by fear, the little girl would battle until exhausted.

  "Aunt Alex look out!" a chorus of frantic voices warned.

  She turned quickly to see a shadow emerging from around the bend in the trail. It was running straight for her, shouting garbled curses, and wielding what appeared to be a stout club. Not knowing who it was or what he wanted, Alex tightened her hold on the child and fled with her into the woods, the attacker in hot pursuit.

  The girl struggled harder, legs thrashing, fist striking repeated blows against her captor's thighs and belly, but no matter how hard she tried, the woman wouldn't let go of her.

  Alex yelped as sharp little teeth bit her hand. She jerked it away, only to have the skin tear, releasing a stream of blood from the wound.

  Stunned by the pain, Alex momentarily lost her balance on the loose rocks and pitched forward, tumbling into a thicket. With prickers pulling at her clothes and skin and the child screaming in pain as thorns scratched her face, Alex looked up startled to see the figure bearing down on her. Before she could make it to her feet, he was there, looming over her. He made threatening gestures toward them, brandishing a four-foot length of branch, which he menacingly lifted high into the air. She quickly shielded the child's body with her own, then felt something heavy strike her back, the pack deflecting the blow. There was shouting as running footsteps rushed to her aid, and a skirmish began. Deana and Justin battled her attacker, but were having a difficult time restraining him. Alex joined the scuffle. As the other two pinned his arms down, she sat on his legs, getting her first real look at his face; he was only a boy, twelve or thirteen at most. His almond shaped brown eyes stared up at them with a mixture of fear and defiance.

  "Are you Charles?" she demanded, as the dark-skinned boy continued to struggle.

  "Let me up you bastards. We don't have anything," he spat back.

  "Don't hurt him," the little girl pleaded, slapping Alex, trying to push her off him.

  "Where are your folks?"

  "None of your fucking business!" he sneered, turning away, refusing to look at her.

&
nbsp; With her wounded hand throbbing and oozing blood and her back aching, Alex was in no mood to take any lip from a sassy-mouthed punk, especially one who'd just tried to kill her. She grabbed him by the hair and roughly yanked his head back around, forcing him to look at her. "Look you little pisspot, I'm losing my patience with you so don't give me any shit; when I ask you a question, I want an answer, not a smart-assed remark!"

  He tried to twist away again, but she tugged on his hair so hard he screeched in pain.

  "Are you Charles?"

  "Yes, damn you. Let go of my hair."

  "Is this your sister?"

  "Yeah," he said, wincing, "Come on. Let go. You're hurting me."

  "Can I trust you to behave?"

  He glared at her.

  "Don't push me kid. I'm fighting an awfully strong urge to smack you silly," she warned, tightening her grip on his coarse, dark locks.

  "OK! OK! "

  "Where are your parents?"

  "My mother's dead; they killed her," he said, his voice filled with sorrow.

  Alex felt her anger waning. "Who killed her'?"

  "I don't know who it was," he said bitterly, fighting back tears, so she wouldn't think him weak. "She was trying to find some food for us and some white bastard shot her down like a dog."

  "In Indian Lake?"

  He nodded.

  She recalled the corpse littered streets; his mother was just another body in the legion of dead there. "And your father? Where's he?"

  "Dead most likely," he said, tears glistening in his eyes.

  "Killed by the bomb? You're from Albany?"

  He looked at her in confusion. "No. Herring. My father worked at Fort Drum."

  So she'd been right. They had hit the military installation. "How did you get here?"

  "We lived a few miles south of town. When the warnings came over the TV, Mama packed up some food and blankets, put us in the car, and started driving east into the mountains. She wouldn't go back. Wouldn't even try to find him," he told her. "She said he couldn't have gotten clear of it. That the base was the target and there was no way he was going to make it out of there alive. I made her leave him a note though, just in case, telling him we'd be waiting for him at Eagle Point."

  "Eagle Point? The State Park at Schroon Lake?"

  "Yeah. We used to camp there in the summer. But when we got there, people were crazy. Blocking roads. Stoning cars. Fighting each other for food, blankets, jackets, guns…anything! Mama wouldn't stop. She said they'd take what little we had. Said we couldn't be waiting on a dead man. That he was never going to meet up with us, except maybe in heaven. He was a civilian contractor he…" the boy suddenly fell silent, unwilling to say more, afraid he'd burst into tears.

  "Where did you go?"

  "We got as far as Riparius. That's where we lost the car and the food. We were trying to avoid the main roads. Mama said they were too dangerous. We took side roads instead. We were heading to Route 8 when we saw the barricade. They'd used trees and branches to block the road. When we tried to turn around, a gang of men surrounded the car and dragged us out. Mama tried to put up a fight, but there were too many of them. They punched and kicked her and threw her on the ground. I tried to help her, and they started beating on me too. There was nothing we could do to stop them. They took everything we had."

  "How did you get here?"

  "Walked."

  "Where were you going?"

  "I don't know. We were just walking, looking for food mostly, clothes to keep warm, and a camp or an abandoned house where we could stay until help came. Mama said they'd be setting up shelters for survivors soon, but we never found them. Things just kept getting worse. Schroon Lake was bad, but not like here. They'd bust your head and beat you bloody for what you had, but they weren't killing people. Weavertown was the first place we saw a lot of dead people, at North Creek there were more, and now here…" He couldn't go on, his body shuddered as he remembered his mother lying lifeless in the street, blood seeping from the bullet hole in her back.

  Alex rose to her feet. "Let him go."

  Justin hesitated, thinking it was a mistake, that the kid might become violent again. His uncertainties weren't shared by his aunt. She shot him a dirty look. Against his better judgement, he let the black kid up.

  "How long since you've eaten?"

  "Three days," he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he tried to regain his composure. "I was trying to find something for us to eat when you found Jasmine."

  "It's not safe here. We better get off the trail before someone else shows up." It was dangerous being out in the open. "Look, we've got some food. You're welcome to share it with us."

  He stared at her. What? Was she fucking nuts? Food was too precious a commodity to share. People were killing each other over a single rotten apple. What the hell was she up to? He didn't trust anyone anymore and certainly not some crazy white bitch. Who knows what she would have done to his sister if he hadn't showed up when he did. But he couldn't very well turn down her offer, especially when they were so hungry.

  Alex slowly scanned the woods trying to find a suitable place for them to rest a while. "Down there," she announced, pointing to a thick stand of pine a few hundred feet below them on the slope. It was close to the road, but had adequate cover. They'd be safe there.

  Charles rose to his feet, walked over to his little sister, and picked her up. She was shaking like a leaf. "It's OK; we're gonna get something to eat. You don't have to be afraid; I'm here now." She put her arm around his neck, clinging to him. His eyes widened in concern as he saw the wet smear of red on her sleeve, "Still bleeding huh?"

  "What happened to her?" Alex asked, coming closer.

  The little girl looked scared and buried her head in her brother's chest. "She's been shot," he snapped angrily. "Some redneck bastard shot her."

  "Oh my goodness! The poor thing!" she said, horrified, "Was she caught in a crossfire or something?"

  "Crossfire? Hell no! They were aiming at her. Whoever it was meant to kill her. More food for them!"

  Alex was too stunned to speak.

  "Things have changed lady. There's no law anymore!" he sneered, finding her reaction, her shocked disbelief, irritating. Was she stupid? Didn't she know what was going on out there? "People are shooting anything that moves. Don't care who they hit."

  "Come on," she said, looking visibly shaken, "I've got a first aid kit in my backpack. We'll get you something to eat and see what we can do about her arm."

  Alex sat cross-legged on the ground, watching as the two children ravenously attacked the handful of Cheerios she'd given each of them. Jasmine, her arm now bandaged and secured in a sling, kept watch over the cereal box. Luckily, it was only a flesh wound; the bullet had just grazed the skin. It could probably use a couple of stitches, but the best Alex could do was close the wound with a makeshift butterfly bandage, hoping the gash wouldn't reopen again. Jasmine had been surprisingly brave. Never crying, never even flinching as Alex cleaned the wound with antiseptic and smeared on antibiotic ointment.

  Her hand reached for the box and shook it. There wasn't much left. She'd skimped on their own rations in order to give the newcomers some, but a measly half cup of cereal would hardly make a dent in their hunger. She peered into the box, what remained barely covered the bottom. She couldn't begrudge them that little bit more, not when they were starving. She passed the box to Charles, but he didn't take any, giving it instead to his sister. Jasmine smiled at him, took a little, then gave him the rest. Watching them pass the box back and forth was enough to break Alex's heart. She reached for her pack. On the top was a large can of Spam. She pulled the tab and opened it, glancing around at the children. Meat was a treat, one that caused their eyes to light up and mouths to water in anticipation. A month ago, the kids would have turned up their noses at such fatty fare, refusing to even taste it; but that was before, when people could afford to be fussy about what went into their mouths. That luxury no longer existed. Taking a
knife from her pocket, she began cutting the meat into slices.

  The children gathered around Alex, hands extended, waiting for their share. They grinned as they received their portions and quickly gobbled them down. Charles and Jasmine sat motionless, watching the others eat. Jasmine licked her lips, wondering if the lady would give them a taste. Three pieces remained. Alex took one, looked at it a moment, then dropped it back into the tin. They needed it more than she did.

  Charles was surprised when she passed him the can. He still didn't understand why she was being so generous. But right now, all he cared about was getting the meat into his mouth before she changed her mind. He took one piece, then whispered something to Jasmine, and gave her the other two.

  Alex watched as he bit off a chunk of meat and chewed it, savoring the taste. Perhaps a few days from now, she'd be kicking herself for giving away food, instead of keeping what little they had for themselves, but how could she deny two starving children food?

  Charles sensed that he was being watched and looked up to find her closely observing him. This white lady was definitely strange. Either crazy, stupid, or both. People didn't give you something for nothing, there was always a catch. But in her case, he couldn't figure out what it was. He and Jasmine had nothing of value, only the clothes on their backs and even those were little more than rags. It didn't make sense to him, but he wasn't going to question their good fortune. It was time they caught a break!

  "How far away were you when the bomb hit?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, wondering if they'd been exposed to the worst of the fallout and whether it was safe for her and the kids to be around them. Can a person who'd been exposed contaminate others? She didn't know the answer. What she wouldn't give to be able to Google fallout and radiation poisoning right now. Alex had no idea whether the internet was still working. Even if it was, she didn't have any bars. Cell towers were few and far between in the Adirondacks. Alex felt a momentary pang of guilt. After trying so hard to keep the kids away from the lethal radioactive dust, she might have inadvertently endangered them. She studied Jasmine and Charles. They didn't look sick, at least not with what she remembered were the classic symptoms of radiation sickness: the nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, thinning hair, open sores, and peeling skin. But looks could be deceiving and she had a duty to protect her own.