TRIBES

by Mia Frances

  Alex slowly surveyed the room, wondering how long they could hold out here. She supposed if they managed to keep from starving, they could stay here indefinitely. It would be a hard life, but they had little choice in the matter, the alternative was dying. Despondent, she began to cry. How futile it seemed. Survive for what? To live like animals, scavenging like a pack of hungry dogs?

  She glared at the radios, feeling betrayed by their silence, not knowing whether it was weak batteries, a malfunction in their wiring, or something more ominous. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, limbs flailing, body twisting on the end of a rope, the noose drawing tighter round her neck, slowly strangling her. It was better to know the truth, no matter how frightening, than to suffer in uncertainty. Two radios and neither of the damn things worked. She cursed her ignorance, unsure whether the faint static she'd managed to pick up meant something or not. Was someone, somewhere, broadcasting, trying to communicate with them? The first few days, they'd kept the radios on continuously, slowly moving the dial from one end of the AM and FM bands to the other, trying to pickup something, anything; but no matter what time of the day or night they tried, nothing came through. Alex still listened every now and again, but she was fast losing hope that she'd hear anything. Alex told the children that reception was bad here and not to worry; that set their minds at ease, but not her own. It was true that the mountains blocked and distorted the signals. In the past, only Ticonderoga's small station and WGY, out of Albany, had come in clearly. On occasion she'd picked up garbled bits of music or talk on another channel, but not very often. She knew what happened to WGY. Their signal towers had probably been incinerated with everything else in the Capital District. But what about the other station? It had been over a month. Wouldn't Ticonderoga have begun using an alternate sources of power like gas-operated generators, to get back on the air and disseminate information to the terrified survivors? Ticonderoga was far enough north of the Albany blast to have escaped unscathed. The closest city was Rutland, Vermont, not quite 25 miles away, A bomb dropped there would certainly have spelled disaster for the little village; but as far as she knew, there was nothing of strategic importance in Rutland, nothing to warrant an attack. It wasn't a seat of government, had no military bases, no missiles…only people. She didn't understand. There was no rhyme or reason to any of it.

  Alex leaned back, lids heavy, waiting for sleep to come. Perhaps the historians and philosophers, if any managed to survive, could make sense of it. Politicians had told people not to worry as they built bigger and deadlier bombs. Nuclear arsenals were a deterrent, they said. They'd never be used! Bombs were guardians of the peace, not heralds of war. That had been the bizarre logic of it. What's baffling was that people actually believed them. Stupid fucking fools! Alex sighed, shut her eyes, and allowed herself to slip into peaceful oblivion.

  Chapter 11

  Alex peered through the scrub at the complex of buildings that comprised the Adirondack Museum: the modern exhibit halls, the historic log hotel, rustic cabins, cottages, schoolhouse, and fire tower. The sky was lightening in the east and a morning haze had settled over the area, giving it an almost eerie appearance. There was no one around. The structures appeared deserted, abandoned. She'd been walking most of the night, traversing the winding mountain roads in pitch-black darkness.

  It was dangerous, but there was no other way. There were gaps in her knowledge; so many facts to learn. It was on these bits and pieces of information that their survival depended. They needed to know more about plant and animal life here, how to preserve foods, dry meat and fish, track and trap game, tan skins, make soap, fashion candles, all the skills that modern man had long ago forgotten. She needed maps too, the topographical kind that divided the forest into small, detailed areas. They would allow her to venture deeper into the wilderness in search of food.

  She remembered that there was an exhibit of animal traps here. Whatever remained of them would be dragged along behind her in the sled. She intended to take back whatever she could carry. With the right equipment, they could have meat on the table every now and again. Their snares had been woefully inadequate. The only fresh meat they'd had of late was a fat, old porcupine that had made the mistake of taking a leisurely stroll on a trail where Michele and Shawn were lurking. The slow-moving creature never had a chance. They'd stunned him with a hail of rocks, then stuck him with one of their spears, finally moving in for the kill, bashing its skull with a heavy length of wood. By the time they dragged the animal back to camp, it was so battered that if not for a few remaining quills here and there, no one would have known what it was. In honor of their first kill, the children had smeared their faces with blood and began whooping and hollering like warriors home from the hunt. They'd eaten well that night; it was a veritable feast. She only wished that was the case every night.

  Alex cautiously made her way toward the main building, trying to avoid the shards of glass and splintered wood that littered the entrance. The interior of the gift shop and bookstore was dark. She pulled the flashlight from her jacket and, flicking it on, timidly looked through the gaping hole in the door. Someone had been here before her. The place looked like a bomb had gone off inside, shelves and tables overturned, their contents missing or scattered on the floor. She slowly panned the light around the room. The gift shop part looked like it had been completely ransacked; not a sweatshirt, sweater, hat, blanket, or can of maple syrup remained. Satisfied that it was safe to go in, that nothing was lurking in the shadows, she quickly squirmed through the hole and set to work.

  Within a half-hour's time, she'd found most of what she needed, filling nearly one third of her sled with some 20 books and over a dozen maps of the region.

  Having accomplished her main objective, Alex moved through the buildings, searching the darkened exhibits, trying to find something, anything that might be useful. But she was too late. Just about everything had been taken, the canoes, tools, sleds, clothing, anything of value. She managed to find two small animal traps and a couple of antique axes and saws, but that was all. Disappointed, she'd been hoping to locate a shotgun, rifle, or even an old musket; but if any weapons had been on display, they were gone now.

  There was only one area of the museum left to search, the snack bar. Alex didn't imagine there'd be much left, but it was worth a look. Maybe she'd get lucky and stumble on some candy or a few bags of chips. She wasn't going to pass up the opportunity, not after she'd come all this way.

  As she rounded the corner of the building, Alex paused to glance at the lake. It made her melancholy, bringing to mind happier times when she and Matt had been together, sharing scenes just like this: green vistas and breathtaking panoramas. She turned away, too tired for tears. All she wanted to do was finish up and go home.

  She climbed in through a shattered plate glass window and walked through a maze of overturned tables and chairs to the counter on the opposite side of the room. The place stank of rotting food: the trays of fruit reduced to mush, the sandwiches green with mold inside their wrappers, the pans of vegetables and meat coated with a blackish slime. Only a few packs of gum remained on the candy display. She grabbed them up and quickly stuffed them in her pockets. There was nothing much behind the counter either, just a few packets of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and relish.

  She was filling a small paper sack with them when she noticed that to the right of the register was a narrow hallway leading into what appeared to be a kitchen. She put down the bag and went to investigate. It was hard to see. Barely any light came through the narrow windows high on the wall. Cardboard cartons lay scattered and torn apart on the floor; cabinet and refrigerator doors hung open, revealing empty shelves and rotting food. She wandered around, kicking at the debris, searching for a can or package that might have been overlooked. For all her trouble, all she found were four, dented, single-serving cans of tomato soup.

  Alex walked back into the dining room and began searching the floor for packets of sugar and salt. It was th
en that she spied the other door. The frame around it was splintered as though it had been forced open, yet the door itself was closed. And someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to pile tables and chairs in front of it. Whatever it contained must be valuable, valuable enough to try to keep others out. The obvious conclusion was that it was a storeroom of some sort. As quickly as she could, Alex began shifting furniture away from the opening, wondering what good fortune awaited her on the other side. When her way was clear, she turned the knob and pushed. Nothing happened. Undeterred, she turned the knob again, this time ramming the wood with her shoulder. A loud creaking sound filled the room as the top hinge gave way, pulling free of the cracked frame. The door teetered, then fell with a loud crash, shaking the floor beneath her feet. She gasped when she saw what was inside.

  A frigging windfall! The answer to her prayers. She clapped her hands, giggling like a child on Christmas morning. There was food everywhere she looked, cans and cartons, boxes and bags stacked to the rafters. There were little cans of soup and tiny boxes of cereal, gallon jars of tomato sauce and huge cans of vegetables, stews, and a whole shelf of canned hams, edibles of every size and description. She clambered over the door, trying to keep her balance as it shifted and rocked beneath her feet. There was so much she hardly knew where to begin.

  Alex decided to load up what she could on her sled, taking as much of the canned meat as she could carry. After depositing it someplace safe in the woods, she'd come back for more. She was afraid if she didn't take it now, it wouldn't be here tomorrow. Whoever blockaded the door could return any minute and, seeing that his store had been raided, would lose no time in getting the rest out. She grabbed six canned hams and rushed out to her sled.

  Back and forth she went until the toboggan was piled high with supplies. After pausing a moment to rest, she began dragging it toward the woods. The rope dug into her fingers as she strained and struggled to pull her heavy cargo. The task became doubly difficult as grass gave way to thicket, forcing her to stop every few feet to stomp down bushes in order to make a path.

  Muscles aching and weary from lack of sleep, Alex was exhausted when she finally came upon a small, well-hidden clearing, surrounded by thick stands of pine. It was just what she was looking for. She'd hide the food here, under the boughs for safekeeping, until she could return with the rest. Tired, she plopped down on the thick carpet of pine needles, pleased at how well things were going.

  It would take three more trips to get everything she needed, maybe more. She wasn't going to take it all, there'd be plenty left for others. It was just that whoever laid claim to it would now be sharing the wealth so to speak. She smiled, thinking that it was probably the same person who had scattered things around the kitchen, tearing apart all those boxes and upsetting furniture in the dining room. He was trying to throw intruders off the scent, making it appear as though the place had already been thoroughly looted. Whoever it was, was cunning, but not quite clever enough.

  Alex heard something and sprang to her feet, eyes searching for the source of the sound. She stood perfectly still, heart racing, ears straining to hear. After a minute, convinced it was nothing, she relaxed again. She was just being skittish. It sounded like a twig snapping, but that shouldn't alarm her; it could have been anything: an animal, the wind, a tiny branch falling to the ground. She shook her head and sat back down, thinking how foolish she was to get herself so worked up over nothing. What was she worried about anyway; the museum had been deserted; and at this hour of the morning, who in God's name was going to be roaming the woods? Alex yawned. She was dead on her feet and needed a few minutes rest before unloading the sled. She could smell winter in the air. The idea of it had terrified her, with its barren landscapes, freezing ice and snow, but now, with all this food, it seemed less threatening.

  She jumped. There it was again, that same sound. Alex snapped her head around, staring in the direction it had come from. She was almost ready to believe she'd imagined it when she noticed the branches at the edge of the clearing quivering, as though recently disturbed. There was something else too, the area behind them was dark, as though something or someone was blocking the light. Sensing danger, her eyes darted around looking for a way out.

  Alex scrambled to her feet and took off running. Behind her branches were snapping, twigs and needles cracking and crunching as running footsteps pursued her. Fear squeezed the breath from her lungs as she sped first in one direction, then veered off in another, trying to find an avenue of escape through the dense greenery. Heavy boots stomped through the scrub after her. Alex was nearly hysterical as her pursuer closed in. He was right behind her, she could hear him breathing. She crashed through the branches, twigs scratching her face, the underbrush tangling around her feet. Something touched Alex's back and she shrieked. Her arms flailed, pushing aside the brush and branches as she tried to flee. A hand tried to grab her from behind. Though she tried to elude it's clutches, his fingers caught the collar of her jacket and yanked her back. The material pressed against her throat as she struggled to break free. It was strangling her, cutting off her oxygen. Frantic, Alex tore open the snaps, threw her arms back behind her and, straining, lunged forward allowing her arms to slip free from the garment. A voice behind her bellowed as the flat of his palm came crashing down on her back, dropping her to her knees. Alex tried to get back on her feet, but rough hands grabbed her shoulders, knocking off her knitted hat as he pushed her down into the bushes. A heavy weight dropped onto her back, pinning her to the ground. She could feel what she thought was a knee, pressing against her backbone, threatening to break her in two. Long, thick fingers tangled in her hair. tugging hard, almost ripping it from her scalp. Alex screamed, body writhing, clawing the dirt in a desperate attempt to crawl her way free. Letting go of her hair, the attacker reached for her arm, holding it in a vise-like grip. She squirmed trying to wrench her arm away, but that only served to anger her assailant, who, with one mighty yank, forced her over onto her back.

  His hair was dark, held in place by a bandanna worn Indian style to hold his unruly mane in place. A stubble of beard covered his face, growing all the way from his cheekbones down to the base of his neck, It obscured his features, save for the piercing blue eyes sheltered under thick, bushy brows, which seemed to burn right through her. Strands of grey streaked his hair and beard, furrowed lines extended from the outer corners of his eyes. His hands were rough and calloused. She averted her eyes, fearing his menacing gaze, but quickly turned back when he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her to her feet. He was like a solid wall of flesh looming over her, perhaps six foot three or four. He tightened his grip and pulled, drawing her to him with a jerk. Her head snapped back, eyes staring up at him petrified. He could feel her trembling, see the fear in her eyes. A self-satisfied smile curled his lips. He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her closer, pressing his body against hers. With all her might, she tried to resist him, but barely five feet tall, thin and frail as she was, she hadn't the strength. His groin pressed against her stomach. She grunted, shoving him back, her fists pounding on his chest. At first he appeared angry, then let out a laugh so menacing and mocking it sent shivers through her.

  "You took what was mine, little lady. I can't let you get away with that. Didn't your mama ever teach you that stealing was wrong? Taking what don't belong to you can get you in a whole heap of trouble!"

  Her skin began to crawl. He was smirking and ogling her, obviously amused by the fact that she was scared shitless of him.

  He reached out and stroked her cheek. "I'm not a greedy man, but what's mine is mine! I figure you owe me"

  "I don't have any money," she stammered, barely able to get the words out.

  "Money?" he roared with laughter, "Now what the hell would I do with money?" He stepped back, eyes moving up and down her body like dirty fingers exploring every curve. "Nice," he said, the word sounding like an obscenity on his lips.

  "I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I'll give it back, j
ust let me go."

  "Damn straight you'll give it back," he snarled. "Let you go? What's the matter? Don't you like my company?"

  Alex didn't respond.

  "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" he asked sarcastically. "I'm beginning to think you don't like me."

  "Please," she whispered, "You can have the food back."

  "If I wanted it, I'd take it!" he growled, "I don't need your permission."

  "I didn't mean any harm. I didn't know the food was yours. I'll put it back and go," she said, dissolving into tears.

  "Not just yet!" he admonished her, reaching out his hand to brush her breast.

  Startled, Alex slapped it away.

  "Don't play hard to get with me wench," he warned, yanking open her vest. He grabbed her shirt, tugging so hard the buttons popped and the fabric ripped.

  Alex screamed, trying to fight him off, her knee slamming into his groin. He gasped in pain, then doubled over, his hands releasing her and moving to protect his genitals. She spun around and broke into a run, but her freedom was short-lived. She'd merely knocked the wind out of him, the blow inflicting only momentary discomfort. The only thing she'd accomplished was to piss him off more. He grabbed her by the back of the neck, dumped her on the ground, and began beating her ass with his huge paddle-like hand.

  "Why you lousy, little brat, he yelled, unleashing blow after blow, "You had no call to do that! Do you always go around whacking people in the gonads? I'm gonna teach you why that's not such a good idea!"

  When his anger was spent, she lay perfectly still, blood trickling from her nose and lips, where her face had hit the ground. Alex was afraid to move, fearing he meant to kill her.