TRIBES

by Mia Frances

  Four and a half months had passed since the day the bombs fell. She supposed that by now the level of radiation was low, no longer lethal, but she couldn't help worrying. Every ache, every pain, was cause for alarm. She was terrified of the future. It was synonymous with disease, suffering, and ultimately death. They hadn't escaped the holocaust. True, they weren't counted among the war's casualties yet, but one day they would be, victims of the resulting infirmities and cancers.

  She didn't know why she bothered thinking about such things. Why worry about the prospect of tumors and blindness, leukemia and skin cancers somewhere down the road, when their food supply was nearly exhausted? Without something to put in their bellies, the point was moot. All that was left were a few withered roots and the dandelion, chicory, and dock shoots she'd managed to keep growing in the cellar. By the end of the week it would all be gone. After that there'd be nothing to eat but the trees and whatever they could scavenge from dead carcasses. Wolf had found several of them in the woods, but never took the meat, only the skins. "It's not worth the risk," he told her. Since you couldn't be sure whether the animals died of starvation, disease, or radiation poisoning. They'd only resort to that if they were starving and there was no other way to survive. Depressed, Alex hunched over the table, resting her head on her arms. If he didn't come home soon, it might come to that.

  She straightened up with a start, remembering something Wolf said. He'd been angry at them last night, calling them ungrateful, and insisting they didn't appreciate the sacrifices he made on their behalf. "If your bellies were empty a while, you'd think better of me." The rag fell from her hands. Was this his way of punishing them, showing them how indispensable he was, letting them know how desperate life would be without him?

  She shuddered as an even more frightening possibility came to mind. Suppose it was more than just an object lesson he contemplated? Maybe he didn't intend to come back at all! Alex had spent so much time hating him, thinking up ways to send him packing, that it never even occurred to her that he might want to be rid of them. It would certainly simplify his life, make it that much easier. He could eat for weeks on one deer if he didn't have to share the meat with them. He could stay warm beside a fire all day, instead of going out in the ice and snow to hunt and provide for them. In the final analysis, it was they who needed him, not the other way around. They were a liability. He'd fare better without them.

  Alex slumped down in the chair, burying her head in her hands, not knowing what to believe anymore. Suddenly her head snapped up, her gaze fixed on the gun rack across the room. The answer was there in the blue-black barrels and wooden stocks. He wouldn't have left without those! He could always find another cabin or another woman, but the weapons: the rifles and shotguns, were worth their weight in gold. With the world in ruin, they were the only things of value. She clapped a shaking hand over her mouth, eyes darting to the wind up, metal alarm clock on the shelf. It was nearly eleven.

  She got up from the chair and slowly made her way to the door, blinking back tears. He was out in the cold somewhere, maybe lost, maybe hurt, maybe even dying. Guilt overwhelmed her. She'd wished him dead a hundred times; but now that he might truly be in danger, she was filled with remorse for ever having harbored such thoughts. She hadn't meant it; it was just childish anger, nothing more. Most days she dreaded the sound of his footsteps, but right now…there was nothing she'd welcome more! Her head told her it was only because she needed his brute strength, his skill as a hunter; but her heart said something else. Was it possible that she didn't hate him quite as much as she thought she did? Could she, God forbid, even care for him a little?

  Alex peered down at the silver Claddagh ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. He'd put it on her finger three days ago; telling her that every time she looked at it, he wanted her to remember that she belonged to him. That he was her husband now and expected her to love, honor, and obey him. He'd quoted the Bible to Alex, Ephesians 5: 22-24, telling her scripture dictated that in marriage the husband was head of the wife and that wives were subject to their husbands. "Obedience, respect, and submission, Alex. That's what I expect from you from now on." She gritted her teeth as she studied the design: two hands on either side of a heart with a crown on top. The hands symbolized friendship. Hardly! He wasn't her friend! Not even a frenemy! He was her adversary! Her antagonist! Her nemesis! The heart represented love. Was he serious? Not happening! She didn't love him! She loathed him! The crown signified loyalty. What a joke! He was an irascible son of a bitch. A strict disciplinarian whose word was law, and who reinforced his petty edicts with a firm hand. Loyal to that? He was delusional!

  She stopped short of the door. Why should she care what happened to him? He was an arrogant, demanding dick. Not to mention a rapist! Yet she did. She cared very much! Wolf might be a dickwad, but he was taking care of them the best he knew how. No matter what he'd done; he didn't deserve her contempt. Behind the threatening postures and angry looks, there was goodness in him. The generosity he'd shown them, his sense of duty, certainly made him worthy of her respect and concern. She stared at the door, then looked at the jackets that lined the wall. She couldn't bear waiting any longer, couldn't stand around wringing her hands, doing nothing while he might be dying. She had to find him, bring him home.

  Alex shut the door behind her, turning her face into the biting wind. The first breath of frigid air caught in her lungs, sending shivers through her body. Holy shit! It felt like 15 or 20 below out here! She pulled the scarf up over her nose and took her first teetering steps forward on the homemade snowshoes, trying to hold the lantern steady. She waddled toward the trench in the snow, her feet wide apart to keep from tripping over the cumbersome gear. Her movement was restricted by the numerous layers of clothing she wore, making her appear ungainly, like a short, squat stump with feet. She could barely see over the wall of drifts rising up five feet or more on either side of her. Gusts of wind whipped the top layer of crystalized snow into whirling clouds, sending it flying through the air like tiny, stinging projectiles. It felt like needle pricks on the bare skin of her face. Alex bent her head, trying to shield her eyes from it. Channels carved in the snow veered off to the right and left of her, ending at the hand pump and wood piles in one direction and the outhouse in the other; but Alex kept moving straight ahead, following the path forward, struggling up the slippery incline until she finally emerged, out of breath, on top of the snow. Holding the lantern out in front of her, she looked down, trying to keep her balance on the unwieldy ovals of twig and twine while searching for some sign of his tracks, but the blowing snow had obliterated them long ago.

  She set down the lantern and slowly surveyed the barren winter landscape. The thick shroud of snow appeared almost luminescent, allowing her to distinguish dark objects outlined against the white expanse. Alex hoped that by some miracle she'd see him, a lone figure slogging through the drifts, but everything around her seemed to seethe with movement. Even if he'd been out there, she'd never have seen him, not with the swirling clouds of white, and the bending and swaying of the trees. With each new gust the forest sprang to life. Churning, rocking, and shuddering, like waves on a dark ocean. Dancers convulsing in a grotesque ballet. She looked around anxiously. How would she ever find him? She didn't even know which way he'd gone. He'd talked about a place called Dishrag Pond that was three miles or so due south of them. He might have gone there, but she had no way of knowing for sure. He could be anywhere. She lifted the lamp, determined not to give up. He usually took one of the sleds with him to transport game, firewood, or whatever supplies he could find. If she just looked hard enough, she might find some clue as to the direction he'd taken. She shuffled toward the trees, her forehead, cheeks, and nose numbed by the bitter cold.

  Ever so slowly, she trudged around the perimeter of the clearing, examining the snow for unusual depressions. Pausing to study the broken branches, twigs, and bramble switches rising like thorny snakes out of the drifts, looking for signs of t
rampling. The further she walked, the more she despaired of finding him. He'd vanished, been swallowed up by the snow. It was useless and she knew it, yet she went on.

  Her hands and feet were freezing as she completed the first sweep of the area. Trying to convince herself that she might have missed something, she retraced her steps, all the while knowing it was futile. Her own tracks had already all but disappeared. Shoulders hunched, head bent, she continued on. Suddenly she straightened up. She'd heard something. Amid the howling wind and clatter of branches scraping and colliding with one another, there was another sound. Her head turned slowly, seeking the source. Then she saw it, a dark form moving slowly across the snow toward the cabin. The lantern bobbed as she tried to hurry toward it, snowshoes bumping against each other, threatening to send her toppling into the drifts. The muscles in her legs ached as her pace quickened. Too tired to lift her feet, she plowed through the snow as though on skis. As the figure neared, she could see that a long dark mound followed behind it. She lifted her hand high in the air and waved it back and forth. The figure came to a halt at the entrance of the trench and waited. Exhausted and out of breath she crossed the expanse that separated them.

  "Alex?" he called out in surprise. "Is that you?"

  "Yes," she yelled back, rushing ahead.

  He stared at the bobbing light as it came closer. "What the hell are you doing out here?" he shouted over the wind.

  He didn't get his answer until she was no more than 20 feet away. "I'm looking for you!

  Wolf stared at her in dismay. As touching as the gesture was, it was also foolhardy. Even with the all the clothing she wore, he could see she was shivering. "How long have you been out here?" he asked, leading the way down into the trench, trying to keep control of the sled on the slippery incline.

  "I don't know…a while," she responded, gingerly following, trying to keep from falling on the icy surface. "What happened?" she asked, her hand pressed against the snow wall for support. "Why didn't you come home? I was worried. I thought something bad had happened to you."

  "I got held up," he said as he attempted to maneuver the sled through the narrow pathway. "What's a while?"

  "Half, maybe three quarters of an hour."

  "I appreciate your concern, but you weren't thinking when you came out here. It was foolish, not to mention dangerous! There's no way you could have found me in this."

  She was so relieved at seeing him safe and sound that she didn't give him an argument.

  "Next time stay put! OK?"

  Alex didn't answer, she was too busy staring at his right leg. It was wrapped in rags. She hadn't noticed before, but he was limping. "You're hurt," she blurted out.

  "Don't worry, it's nothing serious," he assured her. "I got caught in a booby-trap. A damn hole filled with barbed wire. "

  "Jesus! Are you all right?"

  "I'm cut up some, but I'll be OK. It was worth it though; you won't believe what I found," he said as he stopped in front of the door, and turned to look at her. "A well-stocked, state-of-the-art survivalist retreat."

  "A what?"

  "A survivalist retreat."

  "You mean like the nut jobs that were running around the woods in Northern Vermont last summer, carrying AR-15s and scaring the crap out of the tourists?"

  "As it turns out, maybe they weren't quite as crazy as everyone thought." He opened the door and went in, dragging the sled behind him.

  Alex followed, closing and bolting the door. The warm air felt good against her skin as she hurriedly began peeling off the layers of clothing and removing the snowshoes and boots.

  Bone weary from pain and exhaustion, Wolf pulled the rocker closer to the fireplace and sat down.

  Alex looked over at him, worried. "You sure you're Ok?"

  He nodded. "I'm just tired is all."

  Once she stripped down, she went to him. Dropping to her knees, she began taking off his boots. It was then that she noticed the large splotches of blood on the rags. He held his right leg stiff, seeming afraid to bend or move it in any way. As she grabbed hold of the boot, his face contorted in pain. Alex stopped, not wanting to hurt him, fearing what she'd find beneath the dirty rags.

  "Go ahead," he ordered. "Take the damn thing off! Just be quick about it!"

  He groaned and grimaced as she pulled the boot free. His socks were stained with fresh blood. She took a deep breath to steel herself and started to unbind the wound, but he pushed her hand away.

  "Help me off with this stuff first," he said, struggling to stand. She jumped to his aid. His face paled. Wolf appeared dangerously close to passing out as she hurried to remove his clothing. When she was done, a large pile lay beside her: his poncho, a jacket, a down vest, a sweatshirt, a sweater, and an old flannel shirt. Wearing only his long sleeve undershirt on top now, he wearily returned to the rocker. Kneeling beside him, Alex began untying the rags. As she unwound them, more and more blood appeared. Her hands were shaking by the time she reached his tattered pant leg. She discarded the soiled rags, tossing them into the fire; then, trying not to hurt him, attempted to find the source of the bleeding. The heavy canvas fabric of his waterproof hunting pants was soaked with blood, the tears running lengthwise from the top of his boot to his knee, but she still couldn't see anything. Under the first pair were lighter weight hiking pants, then jeans, sweat pants, and finally long underwear.

  "I've got to cut these off you. I can't find where the bleeding's coming from."

  "No! You can't do that. I need them. I've got few enough pants as it is," he insisted "Help me up. We'll take them down."

  It took a moment, but he was finally on his feet again. As he held onto her shoulders to steady himself, she unbuckled his belt and undid the zipper, pulling that pair down to his knees. Alex did the same with the next, and the next, and the next, then finally took the elastic of his long johns in her hand and pulled them down to his thighs. He was shivering as she lowered him onto the chair.

  "I'll get you a blanket, she told him as she ran to the bed to retrieve one. Returning with a comforter, Alex tucked it around him, covering his torso, hips, and upper thighs. She waited a moment before beginning, then slowly worked the first pair of pants down, but even as gentle and careful as she was, he squirmed and growled in pain. She was crying by the time the second, third, and fourth pair were thrown aside. The right leg of his yellowed underwear was a ghastly shade of red from ankle to knee; so were were his socks. The fabric had shredded, adhering to the wounds. She stripped off his socks, then carefully began to lower the long johns. She removed the left leg first, then moved to the right. Alex stared at it dubiously.

  "Just do it! The longer it takes, the worse it's gonna be," he told her. "Go ahead, get the damn thing off me."

  Alex slid her fingers between the ragged thermal underwear and his skin, tugging it sideways to stretch the material; then, taking in a deep breath, yanked it down. He cried out as the fabric and scabs were ripped away, setting the wounds bleeding again. She gasped when she saw it. The flesh was torn apart as though he'd been clawed. Some of the wounds were shallow, but others were deep gashes that had bits of fiber and thread protruding from them.

  Alex rushed to get some water to wash away the blood, stumbling into the table in her haste. When she returned, he was bent over, glaring down at his leg, cursing under his breath. He sat back, watching her, clenching his teeth against the coming pain.

  "What's the soap for?" he asked warily.

  "The wounds have to be cleaned."

  He nodded in resignation and closed his eyes as she headed back toward the stove.

  She placed his foot in a dishpan and trickled warm water over the leg, then wetting and soaping a rag, began to clean away the blood. He tensed at the sting, flinching every time she touched him.

  "I'm sorry" she said, voice cracking, "I'm trying not to hurt you."

  "Don't mind me. Do what you have to."

  "Some of these are awfully deep."

  He leaned forward to tak
e a look. "Boy, that damn thing really did a number on me. That son of a bitch had them all over the place. Dug out of the snow. It was like walking through a mine field. I didn't know they were there, until I'd already stepped in one."

  "Are you sure it was barbed wire? It doesn't seem possible that it could have gone through five layers of clothing and still cut you like it did. I thought the spikes were short."

  "Oh it was barbed wire all right. Some of it homemade. A mixture of razor wire and chain link fence that had been cut up and bent to form rows of spikes nearly two inches long. It was coiled in a circle, banking the sides of the hole, just big enough to fit a foot. Got to admit, it isn't such a bad idea. Put enough of those things around a place and nobody gets in."

  She rinsed the leg with clean water, then examined the wounds more closely. She dabbed at the trickles of blood and torn flesh, feeling woefully ignorant of what to do next. She could bandage them up, try to close the wounds, tape the skin together, but she wasn't sure they'd hold.

  "How are you with a needle and thread?"

  Alex looked at him puzzled, then, realizing what he meant, paled. "Oh no! I couldn't!"

  "Afraid you're gonna have to! I certainly can't do it. And that long one's so deep it won't heal unless you sew it up. Besides, what are you worried about? I'm the one on the receiving end of the needle. It won't hurt you any.

  She looked around nervously, her face completely drained of color.

  "Alex, I can't hunt if I can't walk! It's got to be done. We don't have a choice in the matter."

  She nodded, realizing he was right. "I'll get a needle and thread," she said, rising to her feet.