A Ripple In Time [A Historical Novel of Survival]

by Zugg, Victor

“Can you get a few men together and see about digging a grave for Captain Anderson?”

  “I can do that,” Manny said.

  Mason turned back to Dorothy. “Other than simply surviving, what do we need to worry about?”

  “Pretty much everything,” Dorothy said.

  “Give me the top three,” Mason said.

  Dorothy paused for a moment and then counted off with her fingers. “Most people died of disease, primarily yellow fever and smallpox. They didn’t know back then that yellow fever was carried by the mosquitoes. Smallpox was brought here by the Europeans. There’s also typhoid and malaria at this time here.” She paused again. “Some tribes were not friendly. There were numerous assaults on the plantations around Charles Town even after the war.” She tightened her lips and cocked her head. “The settlers in this era will think we’re all witches. We will definitely stand out.”

  Mason scanned the faces of those standing around him, mostly everyone. He turned back to Dorothy. “So what you’re saying is if we stay here we die of disease, starvation, or the Indians. If we try to enter the Charles Town settlement or any settlement, we will probably be burned at the stake.” He shook his head.

  Dorothy did a subtle flip of her hands to acknowledge Mason’s logic.

  “Most of these people have not been vaccinated for yellow fever, and they stopped giving the smallpox vaccine routinely decades ago.”

  Dorothy nodded.

  Mason paused for several moments pinching between his eyes. He raised his eyes to the crowd. “Okay, first things first. We need food and water. Anyone skilled at setting snares?”

  Manny, who was digging in the sand with a stick at the edge of the trees along with two other men, stopped and raised his hand. “Air Force survival school. I can set a snare, and I can find potable water.”

  “Excellent,” Mason said.

  He perused the others. “We should probably take a skills inventory.” He focused on the tall black man and raised his chin.

  “Travis Turner,” the man said. “Attorney.”

  Mason smirked and then queried the others in the group. He came up with an assortment of occupations but none would be of much use unless they decided to open a school or an accounting firm. “Languages? Spanish?” Several people raised their hands including Manny.

  A slender man in his late thirties, wearing tight, tapered black pants, and loafer, holding a leather jacket raised his hand. “French,” he said with an accent.

  “Charles Town was an English settlement with people from England and the West Indies,” Dorothy said. “There were also some Scotts, French, and a few Dutch, along with the Africans. Also, pirating was rampant up and down the coast.”

  Mason stared at her for several moments before finally nodding. “Our first concerns are for water, shelter, and food, in that order. Let’s get to work.”

  By late afternoon the group had assembled three large lean-to shelters composed of poles, limbs, sticks, and brush they found loose on the ground. Mason arranged the shelters in an arc with their backs to the ocean. He wanted to be facing the forest in case more visitors arrived. They had also set several snares in the forest around the camp using cordage adapted from the raft. And they had dug a latrine shielded from view by thick brush. It was a start.

  CHAPTER 5

  With Mason’s time in the army and as an air marshal, he was used to long hours without sleep. No sleep is one thing, but the constant barrage of relentless mosquitoes and sand flies was something else. The lean-to and the smoke from the three fires did pretty much nothing to help for the second night. Once again, he might have gotten an hour’s sleep, maybe two. He rubbed his face with both hands, pinched the bridge of his nose, and got to his feet. He found Manny reclined against the same tree as the night before swatting at mosquitoes. Mason kicked at the bottom of Manny’s sandals to get his attention. “You said you could find water?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Manny said, as he stood. “We dig a hole, let the ground water seep in, filter, and drink.”

  “Charcoal for a filter?”

  Manny nodded. “Alternating layers of charcoal and sand. We’ll need to cut more pieces from the raft to fashion some kind of tube.”

  Mason nodded and handed him the tactical knife. He gazed at the others and pointed to the man whose wife died on the plane. “That’s Bobby March. I think he could use some distraction.”

  “Okay,” Manny said. “I think we should check the snares first.”

  Mason nodded. As he turned to step off, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. The movement turned out to be the three natives he and Dorothy had seen the previous morning. Only this time, they brought friends. Mason counted a total of eight natives. Four of them were bare-chested wearing a loin cloth and moccasins, but three were wearing long-sleeve, buckskin shirts, breeches, and leggings. The eighth man wore pretty much the same except his shirt was of white cotton or linen. Among them they carried four flintlocks and four bows.

  Dorothy walked up and stood next to Mason.

  “What do you think?” Mason asked.

  “I think if they wanted to kill us we would already be dead,” Dorothy said. “They’re curious, probably wondering what we have to trade.”

  Three of the Indians, led by the one in the white shirt, stepped closer.

  Mason turned to address them. “Do you speak English?”

  Without answering, the native in the white shirt simply gazed around at the survivors all gathered loosely behind Mason and Dorothy. He seemed to pay particular attention to certain articles of clothing, usually the bright colors, and any jewelry. The native’s gaze turned back to Mason.

  Mason watched the man’s eyes trace the full length of Mason’s attire paying particular attention to the pistol in his shoulder holster and the watch on his left wrist. Mason leaned toward Dorothy. “Any other thoughts?”

  “Very curious and definitely interested in trading.”

  “What do you think would be safe to trade?”

  “I wouldn’t give them anything electronic like a cell phone,” she whispered. “The word would get back to the settlers and we’d be branded as witches for sure. I think the same is true of watches. In fact, we should bury anything electronic or mechanical. Pieces of jewelry should be safe enough.”

  Mason nodded. “First chance we get, anything linking us to the future goes in a hole,” he whispered. “That includes the raft and emergency slide.”

  The native walked past Mason and over to the bright yellow raft. He ran his hand along the rubberized fabric. He walked over to the deflated emergency slide and did the same.

  “We come from very far away,” Mason said, “our ship sank.” He used hand motions to illustrate what he was trying to communicate.

  The native again said nothing as he walked back to rejoin the other natives.

  Mason raised an eyebrow at Dorothy.

  “I don’t know,” Dorothy said. “Maybe we don’t have anything they want.”

  “What would they have wanted back then?” Mason asked.

  “Things they can use,” Dorothy said, “guns, metal cooking pots and utensils, cloth.”

  “The same things we need,” Manny said.

  “What about the jewelry we have?”

  “Maybe,” Dorothy replied. “It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  Mason approached the group of Indians who were talking among themselves in a language he didn’t recognize. He removed the shiny, silver colored, stainless steel killed-in-action bracelet from his right wrist. He extended it to the native in the white shirt who turned around and faced Mason.

  The Indian took the bracelet, examined it closely, and held it out for the other natives to see. They began mumbling. They ran their fingers over the inscription which read Steve Brown, USA, 82nd Airborne, Operation Iraqi Freedom. The native shook his head back and forth and went to hand the bracelet back to Mason.

  One of the other natives, one wearing a buckskin shirt, said something.
The first native handed him the bracelet.

  Mason stepped up to him, took the bracelet, and placed it on the man’s right wrist.

  The native fondled the bracelet, held his arm up in the air so everyone could see, and said something to the others. He finally nodded in agreement and started to remove a necklace made of shells from around his neck.

  Mason held up a hand and shook his head to stop him. He fingered the sleeve of the man’s buckskin shirt and nodded his head up and down.

  The native looked down at the front of his shirt, which was stained and in less than ideal condition, and back up at Mason. He nodded, removed his shirt, and handed it to Mason.

  Mason took the shirt and smiled.

  As the group of natives turned to leave, Mason put a hand up to stop them.

  They turned back to face Mason.

  “You come back tomorrow,” Mason said, again using his hands to explain his meaning.

  The natives turned without even a nod and disappeared into the trees.

  “Maybe we’ve made a friend.” Mason examined the buckskin shirt in his hand. He raised it to his face, took a whiff, and jerked his head back as he wrinkled his nose.

  “Maybe some of that swamp water will improve the smell,” Manny said.

  Mason raised his chin and smirked.

  Nathan, the beach bum, stepped up to Mason. “I think we should just move on to Charleston now, or whatever civilization is probably just down the beach.” He glanced behind him. “I’m not alone with that way of thinking.”

  Mason saw several nods.

  “I still can’t believe we’ve somehow gone back in time,” Nathan continued. “We were just off course. I’m sure a town awaits us just down there.” He pointed to the southwest. “Plus we’re getting eaten by the bugs.”

  “How do you explain the natives?” Dorothy asked.

  Nathan threw his hands in the air. “Some local rednecks dressed up to mess with us. Is that harder to believe than all of us being transported back in time?”

  Mason turned his head to Dorothy for a response.

  Travis, the tall attorney, spoke up. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should head out. There could be help within walking distance.”

  “The evidence is clear to me,” Dorothy said. “There is no help within walking distance. You might as well accept the reality. We’re not in Kansas anymore. There might be some small, individual farms, maybe some hunters’ cabins, maybe a small trading post within walking distance, but they would barely have enough food to feed themselves.”

  Nathan huffed. “We’re back to that again.”

  Mason turned in a slow arc. His eyes stopped on Lisa for a moment. Her face and chest were dotted with red blotches from the bug bits, and her hair was disheveled. “Look, I know the situation is rough, and I do think we should eventually head for Charles Town. But we can’t make it without food and water. Plus, I think we need to blend in a little better. We can’t go walking in there dressed like this. We can trade to outfit a small group of us and hopefully slip into the settlement unnoticed. Once we’re inside, we acquire the clothes necessary so we can all blend in.”

  Nathan stomped a foot in the sand. “Like I said before, bull shit.”

  “How long?” Mildred asked, holding her dog in her arms.

  Mason focused on Mildred. “Like I said, we need food, water, and time to get to know the area and the surrounding people. I can’t give a specific time.”

  “That brings up another issue,” Nathan said. “Who put you in charge?”

  Manny stepped up. “That’s a stupid question. Look around. Do you see anyone better qualified?”

  “I manage a construction company,” Nathan said.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of skills that will be valuable to us,” Mason said. “For now, we need to focus on food, water, and establishing some alliances.” He locked eyes on Nathan. “And we could use better shelters.” He turned to Travis. “That’s how we’re going to survive this.”

  Manny motioned to Bobby. “Can you give me a hand checking the snares and digging a water hole?”

  Bobby, looking depressed, hesitated but slowly got to his feet. “Sure.”

  Mason raised his chin and eyed several others. “We could use a second latrine.” He motioned toward the trees. “It needs to be fairly deep like the other one. And we need to scavenge the area for anything that looks edible. There should be pecans, hickory nuts, and various types of berries in this area. And watch out for snakes.”

  One of the passengers, a slightly overweight middle aged man, stepped forward and motioned with his hand. “I can help with that. I’m familiar with southern wild edibles. My father taught me as a kid.”

  Mason smiled. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  Karen stepped up to Mason and took hold of the buckskin shirt. “Let me see if I can get some of the dirt and odor out of this.”

  Mason raised his chin. “Thank you,” he said, as he let Karen take the garment.

  “Lisa mentioned you were in the military. What exactly did you do?” Karen asked.

  “Delta force. Eight years.”

  Karen cocked her head to one side.

  “It’s an army special forces outfit primarily responsible for combating terrorism.”

  Karen tightened her lips with a slight smirk and nodded. “Might come in handy.” She started to walk away but stopped and stepped back up to Mason. “Even if we were dressed in clothes of this period, we would still stick out like a sore thumb,” she said in a low voice.

  “I know,” he said. “We just need something to work toward.”

  ◆◆◆

  Over the next several days the survivors scavenged the area for anything edible. A hundred yards into the forest they found a stream of clear water. It was narrow but in spots it was up to two-feet deep. Rather than digging a hole for ground water, Manny ran the stream water through his makeshift filters of sand and charcoal. The stream also provided fresh water for bathing.

  Every morning the natives visited. As it turned out, two of the natives could speak a bit of English including the one with Mason’s bracelet. Sometimes they brought items to trade, but often they just showed up to help the survivors learn how to gather food. They obviously realized the predicament because they willingly traded what would have been a very valuable European axe, a large metal cooking pot, and ten pounds of rice for several items of jewelry, including Dorothy’s turquoise bracelet.

  Once they had the cooking pot, Manny was able to boil the filtered water for added protection and keep the plastic water and soda bottles full.

  With the axe, the Sabal Palmetto tree, or Cabbage Palm, which was plentiful in coastal South Carolina, became a favorite food source. It took an axe to harvest the meaty core since the tree had to be cut down. Getting down to the edible part took considerable work, but it was worth it. A couple of large palm hearts could feed the entire group of survivors. The hearts could be eaten raw or boiled with game meat and whatever else they could find for a stew. The palms had other uses as well. They wove the palm fronds into sleeping mats and carved the woody stems into various utensils, including spoons.

  Nathan, despite being pissed off most of the time, was able to replace the lean-to shelters with more conventional four-sided huts with domed roofs fashioned from poles. Mason figured he took on the task to showcase his skills and thus nominate himself as leader should it ever come to a vote.

  The natives helped with the design of the huts and showed the survivors how to harvest tree bark to cover the outside walls and the roof.

  Before turning in each night the survivors lit a temporary fire inside each hut and burned green pine needles. The thick smoke drove most of the mosquitoes and sand flies out. It worked so well that on the fifth night Mason was actually able to get five hours of sleep.

  Tom Green’s broken leg was a little less painful by then, and it appeared he had avoided infection.

  They dug a new latrine every couple of days. The lack of to
ilet paper took some getting used to. Leaves or moss were the best alternatives.

  The natives showed the survivors how to fashion spears suitable for spear fishing.

  Lisa, Angie, and Bobby spent most of their days trying to catch fish at a small inlet about a mile down the beach.

  Another group of five people, including Mildred and her dog, took on the responsibility for most of the food preparation.

  The survivors did find a number of wild edibles, nuts and berries mostly. They snared a few small animals and caught an occasional fish. Despite their good fortune, Mason estimated each person was living on less than a thousand calories per day.

  Even so, everything was clicking along better than could be expected, until the fever set in.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mason wasn’t an expert on tropical diseases, but he did know the symptoms of yellow fever. Several members of the group started showing some of those symptoms on days seven and eight. By the morning of day nine there were five people, including Lisa and the attorney, with varying degrees of the symptoms—fever, yellowed skin, headache, muscle ache, nausea, dizziness, and lethargy. The eyes of one of the survivors had turned red which was an indication of internal bleeding. They were sick.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Mason asked Gail, the nursing student, as they stood outside one of the huts.

  “All I know is that yellow fever is caused by a virus,” she said. “Even if we were back in our time, the only thing we could do is treat the symptoms. Keep them from getting dehydrated, keep the fevers down with cold compresses, and try to make them as comfortable as possible.”

  “What’s their prognosis?”

  “From what I understand, most people recover after a few days. But in some, it can lead to organ damage and death. It’s not contagious between people.”

  “Will there be more people sick?” Mason asked.

  “Probably,” Gail replied. “It depends on a person’s individual immune system and, of course, if they’ve been vaccinated.”

  “Most Americans likely have not been vaccinated,” Mason said, “unless maybe if they travel a lot.” He scanned the other survivors, most of whom were busy with some task. “I’ve been vaccinated. I’m at the end of the ten-year period, but I should be okay. Likewise for Manny. He’s active duty Air Force. I’m guessing Karen and Angie have gotten the vaccine. But that’s it as far as I know.”