A Ripple In Time [A Historical Novel of Survival]

by Zugg, Victor

  “Everyone else would be susceptible,” Gail said. “Including me.”

  Mason closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and exhaled. “Do the best you can.”

  The sound of retching emanated from inside the hut.

  “I should probably see what I can do,” Gail said, as she took a final glance at Mason.

  Mason watched as she disappeared into the hut. He couldn’t help but wonder if staying put was the right course of action. Maybe Nathan was right.

  He glanced at Tom Green who reclined against a tree. He was rubbing a piece of wood against a rock. He had become pretty good at fashioning wooden spoons. He was in less pain with his leg, but it would still be weeks before he could do anything more than hobble.

  Mason contemplated the natives they had encountered. Dorothy thought they were a small group of Catawba Indians who had moved south. According to her, the Catawba as a tribe were fiercely opposed to the Colonists during the Yemassee War. Later the tribe would forge alliances with the colonists through trade. They even sided with them against the British during the Revolution. But without knowing the current year it was impossible to know the state of affairs. One thing was clear. For whatever the reason, these natives seemed to have taken a liking to Mason and the survivors. It is probable they would not have survived this long if not for their help.

  One thing that seemed curious to Mason was that the natives did not seem to question the strange clothes and the rubber rafts. But there were probably a great many things the natives didn’t understand about the colonists of Charles Town and the life they lived. They probably just chalked up the strangeness of the survivors to just another aspect of foreign life.

  On the morning of the tenth day the group of natives gave Mason a buckskin pouch which contained various leaves and twigs. Through broken English and sign language, the natives explained that the mixture should be boiled and the liquid consumed by the sick members of the survivor group. Gail had no idea what the concoction would do for a virus but thought it probably couldn’t hurt. After all, the natives had dealt with a variety of such diseases for centuries.

  She prepared the leaves and twigs as instructed, let it cool, and encouraged her patients to consume some of the dark liquid. It didn’t seem to have an immediate effect, good or bad, but by the next morning the treatment had apparently resulted in lowered fevers and less muscle pain. It didn’t cure the malady, but it did make them feel better. After a few days all the sick seemed to be well on the road to recovery, except one. A middle aged woman, the one who had the red eyes, continually got worse. She began vomiting blood the day before she finally died. The survivors dug a second grave next to Captain Anderson.

  By the end of the third week the camp was back on a routine that consisted mostly of hunting, fishing, gathering, scouting, and generally making the camp more livable. It wasn’t much of a life, but at least it was a life.

  ◆◆◆

  On a bright morning the beginning of the fourth week, two natives showed up like clockwork. One of them still wore Mason’s killed-in-action bracelet. He went by the name Mato. But rather than trade or pitch in with camp chores, Mato, using broken English and hand motions, wanted Mason to follow them into the forest. Mason motioned for Manny and Dorothy to tag along. They had no idea where they were being led, but the trio followed the two braves down a well-worn trail through the thick brush. About four miles deep into the marsh they emerged into a clearing and into what was apparently Mato’s village.

  Mason counted twenty huts very similar to the ones the natives helped build at the survivors’ camp. Each hut was about ten square feet, domed in shape, and constructed of poles lashed together with strips of deer hide and covered with tree bark, mainly Birch. The huts were arranged in a loose circle around two much larger huts. The bustling village sat next to another clear running stream.

  Nearly everyone seemed focused on some task. Women were busy weaving baskets, working with clay for pottery, or preparing food; the men worked on the huts, crafted tools, spears, and bows, and performed various other duties. Mason watched as two men carried a deer carcass into camp on a pole. Children scurried about. A group played some kind of game that involved sticks and a ball weaved of tree bark. But all of that came to a stop when Mason, Dorothy, and Manny stepped into view.

  Dorothy still wore her gray pants, blue top over a black shirt, and sandals, worn and stained as they were. Her clothes hung looser than they did three weeks earlier. She had lost weight as did all the other survivors including Mason. Manny still wore his khaki shorts, a yellow Polo shirt, and sandals, again well worn and stained.

  Several of the village women immediately gathered around Dorothy and began fingering her blue top and gray pants as they mumbled incoherently. They were intrigued by the polyester cloth.

  Soon the three of them were surrounded by the villagers as they gaped, poked, and prodded. An older gentleman seemed particularly fascinated with Mason.

  “My home,” Mato said, as he swung his arm in a wide arc. “Yeh is-WAH h'reh.”

  Dorothy leaned toward Mason. “Assuming these are Catawba, that name was given to them by the colonists because they were first encountered along the Catawba River. Apparently they have a different name for themselves. And this has to be one of their smaller villages. The main tribe is much larger and much farther north.”

  Mason nodded as the mass of shuffling feet ushered the three of them toward an open area in front of one of the large, center huts. Everyone grew quiet as three elders emerged from the hut. All three were dressed in fancier attire consisting of buckskin shirts with plenty of fringe, breeches, and leggings. Feathers, beads, shells, and paint were very much on display.

  Mason assumed they did not dress this way every day but had done so to make an impression on the survivors. They succeeded. They appeared very regal in their regalia.

  The three elders approached Mason, Manny, and Dorothy and went through the same close inspection of Manny and Dorothy’s clothes, and the glasses perched on Dorothy’s nose.

  Mato leaned closer to Mason. He nodded at the oldest of the three gentlemen. “Our chief,” he said. “Enapay.”

  Mason thought of extending his hand but decided he should wait and follow Enapay’s lead.

  Enapay did not offer to shake hands, but he did come across as extremely cordial. He motioned for Mason and Manny to follow as he turned to reenter the hut.

  Dorothy took a step to follow but was quickly surrounded by a number of women, all mumbling as they directed her to a smaller hut off to one side of the central court.

  Mason glanced at her with a raised eyebrow as they separated.

  “I’ll be okay,” Dorothy said. “Be sure to accept anything they offer.”

  Mason nodded his understanding.

  Several other braves, including Mato, joined the march into the hut.

  Mason and Manny remained standing until the three elders had taken their seat around a small cooking fire. Mason watched the fire’s smoke rise and exit through a small hole in the roof.

  Mato pointed to two spots opposite the elders for Mason and Manny to take a seat.

  As it turned out, the three elders spoke about as much English as Mato so communicating wasn’t a big problem. The oldest elder directed a young brave to hand out wooden bowls to everyone. He did so and ladled some kind of thin stew into each of the bowls from a clay pot hanging over a fire.

  Based on the smell and a quick glance, Mason deduced that the stew was composed of fish, corn and rice. He waited until the three elders tipped their bowls to their mouths and then he did the same. Considering the mixture was devoid of salt or any other spice, it was actually pretty good. The mild, white fish was a little chewy, but it all went down easy enough.

  Between gulps, Enapay kept and eye on Mason and Manny. He would occasionally lean to an adjacent elder and whisper something, followed by nods and grunts from all three.

  Mason could only imagine what they were thinking. Certainly Ma
to had already described the survivors, their camp, and the strange clothes and possessions, such as the two rafts. Mato had never directly questioned any of the strange sights, probably due to politeness, but Mason was fairly sure that Enapay would not hold back with his questions.

  With the bowls empty, the attending brave immediately refilled each with about a cup of a warm, dark liquid.

  After Enapay took a sip, Mason followed suit. The brew had a silky texture with a hint of caramel sweetness along with a bold, nutty and grassy flavor. It had to be some kind of tea since it did not have the burn of alcohol. After a few sips, Mason felt a jolt much like the reaction he got when he drank espresso. The drink had to be loaded with caffeine.

  Enapay finished his tea, sat the bowl to the side, and gazed at Mason.

  “Where you from?”

  Mason sat his empty bowl next to his leg. “My people come from a land very far away and unknown to the Catawba. Our boat sank on our way to New York.”

  Enapay leaned over as one of the elders whispered in his ear. He straightened up and alternated his gaze back and forth between Mason and Manny. “More like you come here soon?”

  Mason smiled slightly. “I can assure you, there won’t be any others like us.”

  “When you go back your land?” Enapay asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “We may not be able to return to our land.”

  The questions and answers went on for another hour. Mason learned that, in fact, Charles Town was a few days travel to the southwest and that a party would make a journey there in a couple of months, sometime in September. They usually made the trip twice each year to trade deer skins for tools and rice.

  The elders eventually went quiet and rose signaling the end of the meeting. They invited Mason and Manny to return and said they would be welcomed anytime.

  Mato led the two survivors from the hut and into the central courtyard. All the natives had returned to their various tasks leaving the central area mostly unoccupied.

  Mason darted his eyes back and forth in search of Dorothy but did not see her among those in view. “Where is our friend?” he asked Mato.

  Mato pointed with his chin at a group of women sitting in front of a hut directly across the courtyard. He began walking in that direction.

  Mason and Manny followed. It wasn’t until they reached the group of women that Mason realized Dorothy had been sitting with the women with her back to the courtyard. Her gray pants, blue top, black shirt, and sandals had been replaced with a buckskin dress with one strap tied over her left shoulder and moccasins. She stood as the three men approached. The length of her fairly form fitting dress stopped just above her knees. Her glasses still perched on her nose.

  “What happened to you?” Manny asked.

  “They insisted,” Dorothy said.

  Manny inspected the new outfit. “It looks good. What did you trade?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “It was a gift.”

  “What about your clothes?” Manny asked.

  “They needed to be burned,” she said. “This is fine.” She ran her hands up and down the length of her dress. “Much more functional.”

  Mason cocked his head and smiled. He then turned to Mato. “We should probably head back.”

  Mato nodded. “Just follow trail.”

  Mason extended his hand.

  Mato gazed at the hand for a moment and then took it in his own.

  “Thank you,” Mason said. “We will see you soon.”

  Mato nodded.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning Mato and four other braves showed up at the camp just as the first rays of light filtered through the trees. All five of them held a bow, arrows, and spears. Mato carried an extra bow, quiver of arrows, and three spears. “We hunt for hexaka and khukhuse,” he said, as he handed Mason the extra bow and three spears. “You come. Bring three more.”

  Mason cocked his head with a confused look.

  Mato put his index fingers up next to his head to represent antlers.

  Manny walked up at about that time. “I think they want us to go hunting with them for dear. Don’t know what the other animal would be.”

  “Pig,” Mato said.

  Mason took the bow and arrows offered by Mato and surveyed the camp. Most were still asleep but Travis and Nathan were up. Mason motioned for the two of them to come over. “We’re going hunting,” Mason said.

  Travis looked at Nathan and then Mason. “Us?”

  Mason handed the two of them and Manny a spear. “Yep.” He could tell Nathan was searching his brain for an excuse not to go, but he knew better than to turn down Mato’s invitation. Mason turned to Mato. “We’re ready.” Mason motioned to Karen that the four of them were going with Mato as he stepped off behind the braves. Mason turned his head to Nathan and Travis. “No talking. No noise.”

  Their eyes scanned up and down the length of their spear taking in the multi-colored paint bands and the stone points.

  “We’re supposed to throw these at something?” Travis whispered to Mason.

  “You may want to just jab with it if an animal gets close enough,” Manny said with a smile.

  Travis examined his spear; his eyes fixated on the stone point. He finally shook his head and began scanning the surrounding forest.

  After an hour of walking, they entered a thick marsh with soggy ground. Mato motioned for everyone to slow down as he became particular about where he placed each foot. He worked his way several yards into the scrub.

  Mason stepped carefully behind the three braves in front of him.

  At the sound of a twig snap off to the right, Mato immediately lowered to a crouch and stopped. Everyone stopped behind him and knelt.

  Mason heard another snap in the distance from behind. He twisted his torso in the direction of the noise. There was a thump and Mason watched as the trailing brave suddenly stiffened and collapsed to the ground. An arrow protruded from his chest.

  CHAPTER 7

  Mason grabbed Travis by the sleeve of his plaid shirt, jerked him to the cover of a large oak tree, and pushed him to the ground. “Take cover,” he said in a raised voice to Nathan and Manny still standing in the open.

  Manny took hold of Nathan’s arm and pulled him down behind a thick bush.

  Mason swiveled his head in all directions and saw that Mato and the remaining braves were behind cover. A few seconds later, Mato joined Mason behind the tree.

  He motioned to remain quiet and stay put. He then moved off to the right and soon became invisible among the brush and trees.

  The other braves had also disappeared into the brush.

  Mason thought of his Glock 9mm pistol tucked in its holster under his buckskin shirt. He had already made up his mind that he would not use the weapon unless it was necessary, to save his life or the life of one of the survivors. To use the weapon in the presence of anyone except a survivor would result in a lot of questions. Word would get around of its unbelievable firepower compared to the flintlocks of the time. And soon Mason would be a target for everyone wanting the power of the pistol. But would he use the weapon to save someone who had become a friend? Someone like Mato? He honestly did not know. He hoped it did not come to that.

  He tightened his grip on the bow in his left hand. With his right he pulled an arrow from the quiver and strung the sinew string into the arrow’s carved nock. He rested the arrow’s shaft against the bow’s leather-wrapped grip and his left index knuckle. With his right index and middle finger on each side of the arrow’s nock, he pulled on the string to test the strength. He was surprised at the force needed to draw the bow. As a kid he had owned and had shot a bow. He even hunted with a friend’s compound bow a time or two. He knew how to handle one, but he was far from an expert.

  Mason scanned the forest in all directions. He heard the rustle of leaves and saw Manny low crawl over to his position.

  “What is going on?” Manny asked in a barely audible whisper.

  Mason shrugge
d his shoulders. “Rival tribe maybe,” he replied in an equally low whisper. “There’s a lot we don’t know about this time period.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Nathan asked.

  “We always knew we were in a serious situation,” Mason said. “It just got more serious.” He glanced at Travis’ face partially buried in the leaves and pine needles and saw his lower lip quivering. It was hard to imagine dying in a place like this, but they had already lost a hundred and fifty people. Most of those were on day one. Dying from an ancient Native American arrow suddenly wasn’t that hard to envision.

  Mason heard a couple of whoops and hollers from somewhere in the distance and then all went quiet again. He wondered if he should stay put as directed or reconnoiter the area. He had just decided to remain where he was when he heard something thrashing in the brush some distance off to the right. It sounded like a wild boar barreling through except the sound wasn’t moving. It was stationary fifty to seventy-five yards away, in the direction Mato had gone.

  “You guys hang here,” he whispered to Manny.

  Manny cocked his head. His eyes flashed wide.

  “Just stay low and out of sight,” Mason said. “No sounds.” He glanced at Travis still buried in the leaves and at Nathan behind his bush a few feet away. He faced Manny and held his gaze for several seconds.

  “We’ll be here,” Manny whispered.

  Mason nodded, rose to a low crouch, and stepped off in the direction of the noise. He moved quickly and quietly from cover to cover.

  As he got closer, he began to hear grunts and groans intermingled with the thrashing. A few yards more and he began to see flashes of red and yellow through the foliage. A few more yards and he could clearly see two men engaged in mortal combat.