by Socha, Walt
“Great idea,” Joe said. “Maybe I should fill one out. Civil engineering stuff. Whatever I remember from school.” “Potts already took a couple.” She met Joe’s eyes briefly before looking down. “No idea what he’s writing.” Joe watched Kristi’s face as she stared at the notebooks.
He needed to ask before the subject faded. “What of the boys?”
Kristi seemed to stop breathing. And several seconds, she spoke. “Is this a Brent thing?”
“No. I’m just trying to understand.” Joe sat back, putting more space between him and Kristi.
Kristi lowered he eyes. “I just don’t think men are as good as women at healing.” She took a long deep breath. Let it out. “But maybe I’m a little prejudiced these days. I’ll start training the boys, too.”
Joe watched her jaw clench. He was way out of his depth here. He switched topics. “What of Marisa?” All the elders from Two Ribs village might have moved across the river with them, but Marisa and Niminu were starting to keep to themselves. Another problem to deal with.
Kristi’s face softened. “I’m trying to nudge her. But she’s spent her entire life living the shamanistic view of life. It is difficult to go from spirits to bacteria.”
Joe hesitated. “And Brent? Will you be okay working with him?” Maybe getting them talking to each other would help her heal. And calm Brent.
“Brent is a black and white kind of guy. That started rubbing me the wrong way.”She closed her eyes, frowned. “But maybe this is a black and white world?”
They sat in silence for several minutes.
Kristi locked eyes with Joe. “This is way beyond any one of us, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
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Kristi stared at her table after Joe left. She slipped the packages of antibiotics into a small padded case and set it on top of the notebooks. She should have brought more.
Yes, she was needed here. She snorted. Maybe a dozen of her along with a couple tons of vaccines and guns. She slumped in the chair and rested her head on the table. Weariness flooded her body.
“Kristi?” Alita appeared in the tent’s doorway. “What is wrong?”She entered, and moved to stand next to Kristi. Kristi looked up, her hand reaching for the young woman’s. “Nothing.” She let go of Alita’s hand, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and cleared her nose. “I’m just thinking too much.”
Alita leaned down and embraced Kristi.
“Thanks.” Kristi took in a long breath. “I’ll be fine.
Is there something you need?” Alita didn’t answer.
Kristi noticed wet tracks on Alita’s cheeks. “What is the matter?”
A tear formed another trail down her cheek.
Kristi rose. “What is wrong?” She embraced the young woman who stiffened before burying herself in Kristi’s arms.
“Are you and Joe...?” Alita voice broke. “Joe? I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to see if you were…” Alita choked. “You were holding each other.” She buried her face in her hands.
“Please sit.” Kristi stood, maneuvered the sobbing woman into Kristi’s still warm chair, and knelt before her. “Joe is a good friend.” Kristi reached up and lifted Alita’s chin. “And I was sad. He only comforted me as a friend.”
Wet eyes met Kristi’s. “I am sorry. I thought...” “No apologies needed.” Kristi stood and helped Alita from her chair. “These are hard days. But they will get better.” Those were words that Kristi didn’t believe, but might comfort her young friend. “And I think we are all still learning to accept this world.”
She lifted Alita’s chin. “Joe came to this land to help you. I know he loves you. Give him time. He does not know his own feelings yet.”
Kristi could only hope Joe would find his feelings before he got himself killed.
Chapter 39. Day 70
Brent woke tired from a long restless night. Through the open doorway of his hut, a dim glow heralded the morning sun. Bile churned in his belly.
He sat up and folded his blanket. There was no way he could face another day here. He’d done nothing but screw up, starting with joining Joe’s wet dream of an adventure. Not even his South American trip had plummeted so deep into shit.
Brent added the blanket to his pack. Checked that he had his flint and steel. Flashlight. His last set of spare batteries. What of an axe? He’d pick up an axe and shovel on the way out of Haven; they had spares. And a small pot for boiling water.
He crawled through the low doorway, pulling his pack after him. He reached back and withdrew the long leather bag containing his bow and quiver. He looked across the creek to the tack house and the milling horses. He’d walk.
He stood, feeling the loneliness as a physical weight. But not as heavy as failure. He’d driven Kristi away to hang bloodied and broken from a pole. And then allowed the entire village to be stripped of weapons.
Treading silently on moccasined feet, Brent slipped through the fort’s doorway, still missing a door, and crept to the central storage hut in the fort. There, he stuffed a small metal pot into his backpack, and then grabbed one of the hand axes and wove it into his backpack’s webbing. With a long handled shovel in one hand and his bow bag in the other, he exited the fort and paused to look back. They had finished the last wall yesterday and it would only take Larry a few hours to get the door hung. He strode out of Haven.
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Joe pulled himself up the last step. He probably ought to install a handhold to help get from the ladder to the lookout’s observation platform.
“Have you seen Brent?” Larry’s eyes remained fixed in the direction of the river. “His tent’s empty.”
“What? Haven’t seen him since yesterday.” Joe stood and scanned the horse corral below Haven. “Flicker is here.”
“He was lookin’ a bit troubled yesterday.”
“Yeah, he blew off some steam in my direction at the archery range.”
Larry nodded to the rifle secured in the sheath, which hung from a nail protruding from the tower’s railing.
“Chamber empty. Loaded.” He walked to the ladder then turned. “You piss him off ?”
“Just trying to help him with his bow.”
“Damn it, Joe.” A frown creased Larry face. “Last thing you need to do is to piss off our best marksman.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry ain’t gonna make it if Tork attacks again.” Larry disappeared down the ladder, the tower shaking at each of his steps.
Joe closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.
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“Uncle Larry?”
Larry stopped and shifted the hoe to the other shoulder. He’d spent most of the day killing weeds; it hadn’t helped. He forced a smile. “What’s wrong?”
Alita shook her head. “Joe’s sad. And Brent is gone.”
Larry drew a deep breath and composed himself. “I’m thinking Joe pissed off Brent. And so he left.”
“Joe wouldn’t do that.” Alita’s eyebrows pulled closer together.
“Well, Joe certainly hasn’t handled things well lately.” Larry felt his face heating. “All the dead bodies ain’t exactly a good sign.”
Alita stared at him. Her eyes watered. “Don’t blame Joe.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He came here because of me.” She turned and ran toward Haven, sobs louder than her footsteps.
Larry stared at her hair flying behind her for a long time before remembering to close his mouth.
Chapter 40. Day 72
The shoreline swung past as Joe twisted his upper body, bracing his hip against the tower’s railing to keep the binoculars steady. Trees, bushes, and rocks appeared and disappeared in his field of view. Movement stopped Joe’s search. He backtracked along the shore. There. A fox dipped his head to drink, ears flicking as it monitored the surrounding sounds.
Joe smiled. This was a world full of a diversity of life.
The fox hopped. Its head ducked into the water, jaw snapping. When it loo
ked up, the tail of a fish flapped against its muzzle.
Joe drew in a long breath. It was also a world of death.
A jay squawked in one of the nearby trees below the tower. Joe lowered the binoculars, searching for the cause of the bird’s warning call. Beneath the jay’s tree, a figure appeared on the path that wound up the hill to the tower. Joe grinned as he recognized Alita. Here was at least one person who wouldn’t complain. Maybe. He sighed as he thought of her sad glances in the days after her ceremony. But that whole subject seemed to have faded after Kristi’s abduction.
In a few minutes, she appeared at the top of the ladder and. He took her basket and helped her clamber onto the tower’s platform. The odor of Potts’s stew triggered a belly gurgle.
“Joe’s stomach is talking again.” Alita’s face lit with a small smile, eyes not quite meeting his.
“Well, it is late in the day.”
He watched as Alita sat and unpacked the basket, pulling out a small covered pot, two bowls, and spoons. She ladled out stew into one of the bowls and, glancing up, handed it and a spoon to Joe.
Joe sat next to her, waiting until she filled her bowl. They ate without talking, listening to the rustle of leaves and the chatter of birds.
After they finished, Alita broke the silence. “How are you today?”
“Someone once said that ‘these are the times that try men’s souls’ or something close.” Joe turned and looked through the netting that served as a safety barrier. The Susquehanna River provided a scenic backdrop, a bit of peace in a troubled day. He tried to smile for Alita’s sake. “It’s hard with Brent gone.” And hard with Larry being grouchy and Kristi in total anger mode. He gave up on the smile.
“I miss him, too.” Alita leaned forward, her hand resting on the platform, a finger’s width from Joe’s leg. “What do you mean by ‘soul’?”
“That part that feels.” “What do you feel?”
The first word Joe could think of was ‘tired.’ But it was more than that. “I’m feeling overwhelmed.” He shifted his eyes to Alita, and his pulse increased. Her hair shone in the evening sunlight; she must have just brushed it. She wore one of the outfits from the ranch. The upper two buttons on her linen blouse were unfastened, exposing the swell of her small breasts. Her cashmere skirt draped over the smooth skin of her thighs. The image of her rising naked from the ritual death surfaced in his mind and he mentally shook it away. After several long heartbeats, she lowered her eyes.
Damn, he needed to remember that she was just a child. But she wasn’t. Not in this world. Joe looked up and down the river and drew a deep breath. “Yet I can’t imagine not being here. I’m feeling useful for the first time in my life. I just worry that I won’t be useful enough.”
“Do you miss anything of your distant life?”
Joe stared at his nearly empty bowl. He spooned up the last remnants then licked the spoon clean. “Well, I do miss hot, crusty bread.”
Alita’s face widened into a smile. “But no butter.” She gave a small lilting laugh. “But I did like the bread with olive oil. Is that possible to make here?”
“Probably not. But if you ask Larry, I’m sure he’ll promise to get us some when he gets his boat built.” The thought of the big guy’s ambitious maritime plans caused him to grin.
Alita bit her lip, her eyes on her spoon as she scraped her bowl. “Are you happy here?”
Joe set his empty bowl next to the basket, stood, and looked east toward Haven. The shadows were lengthening, casting the huts and tents into stark relief. A column of smoke from Potts’s cookfire drifted in the light breeze.
“Yes, I am.” He gazed down at Alita. “I have a purpose and I have my little sister.” Or more than little sister. Something stirred within him and he pushed that feeling back down. For the first time since crossing over, Joe felt at peace. Yes, he had problems. But because of Alita, he could face them.
Alita’s face went briefly slack before her mouth curved into a thin smile. “I should return and help with the other children.” She stood, placed the pot and bowls into the basket with exaggerated care, and scurried down the ladder.
Overwhelmed by confusion, Joe watched her walking back down the path toward Haven. What had he said?
Chapter 41. Day 77
Larry kept his eyes on the horse exercises as Nikaku reined in next to him.
“I saw smoke,” the young warrior said. “I was scouting along the river trail near Two Valleys, just before Long River turned south, when I saw it. Not much and it faded quickly. Maybe a hand of time walking downriver.”
“Tork’s men?” Larry frowned at the watchtower. A figure leaned over the railing. No alarms.
“I think it is Brent.” Nikaku dismounted and stood next to Larry.
Sharp snapping sounds drew Larry’s attention back to the exercise he was running in the open space below Haven. Kidu was riding Mojo through two rows of standing children. Each held a short section of split sapling and slapped it against their free hands, making a sharp cracking sound. It was the best Larry could devise to simulate a gunshot. Mojo cantered through the gauntlet of noise without flinching.
“Okay, now try it with the whips,” Larry bellowed over the chatter of the children. “Remember to just brush the tips along her flanks. Anyone I think hits too hard gets to run through himself.” Larry paused, eyebrows scrunching together. “Or herself.”
Larry watched a few more runs through the gauntlet. “I’ll take a ride down there,” he said to Nikaku. “See what I can see.”
“You want me to go along?”
“Maybe you should join whoever’s on watch.” Larry nodded toward the watchtower. “Just in case it ain’t Brent.”
Nikaku nodded and led his horse away, looking over his shoulder at the training.
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Larry rode Mojo past the remains of Two Valleys. Only two of the huts still stood. He paused at the turnoff to the fish weirs. He could recognize the faded prints of hooves and the children from a week ago. The weirs were mostly intact and reliably held enough fish to warrant a weekly trip.
But no recent tracks other than Nikaku’s. He stayed to the main trail and let Mojo work her way along the narrow stretch between the ridge face and the river. When they reached the area where the trail degenerated into a broken track through twisted trees and stunted bushes, he dismounted and led Mojo.
Once into the more open area of the next valley, Larry remounted and nudged Mojo into a trot. The valley was dominated by an enormous open meadow. They’d have to burn it off this fall to keep it open. If they were still alive.
No trace of smoke. Or of Brent.
The next ridge face presented no difficulty. A wide band of ground between the ridge face and the river allowed for passable terrain for Mojo. Larry remained mounted as his horse picked her way over the rough trail. After a quarter mile, the trail crossed a small creek.
The trees to Larry’s left opened to show the ridge split into two, leaving a small narrow valley. He paused, looking at the rocky creek bed. It’d be really easy to walk it.
“If you were any uglier, I’d have to shoot you.” A voice rang out, echoing in spite of the dense trees and brush. Mojo sidestepped away from the sudden voice. Larry willed his shoulders to relax. “Dammit, Brent. You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“I saw you from the ridge top. About a half mile back.” A bush rustled and Brent stood, his leather bow bag tied across his back. “What are you doing outside of the valley?”
“Nikaku saw smoke.”
Brent flashed a brief frown. “My bad, I was cooking fish. Some of the wood was wetter than I expected.” He stared at Larry for several heartbeats before nodding up the small valley. “Can I offer you some tea? Just up this creek is a place for Mojo to hang out. My camp’s a bit further.”
After unsaddling Mojo and hobbling her in the small nearby glade, Larry followed Brent further up the creek bed, hopping and stumbling from one protruding rock to another. After a
bout a quarter mile, they emerged into a small clearing fifty yards in diameter.
“This is most likely an old hunting camp.” Brent paused, eyes sweeping the open area. “It’s also fairly well hidden. It had a fire ring and the remains of several shelters.” He gestured to a circle of rocks. “Let’s see if I can do a fire without smoke this time.”
As Brent fussed over a small but deep fire pit, Larry sat and leaned against a flat frame of thick sticks tied together with rough twine. “Where’d you get the furniture?” “Just because I’m doing the hermit thing, doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable.” Brent struck a spark into a small ball of crushed leaves and dried fibers. He puffed a bit of air on the tiny flame and smoke curled in response to his breath. “Any sign of Tork?”
“Nope, not a sign.” Larry rapped his head with the knuckles of his left hand. “Knock on wood.” He stared at the Brent’s blank response for several seconds before smiling. “You son of a bitch, you’ve been keeping watch, haven’t ya?”
Brent didn’t respond. He placed the smoking tinder ball in the pit and placed small twigs over it in the shape of a teepee. He puffed several more times and the thin smoke broke into flames. After adding several larger pieces of wood, he sat back on his haunches. “How are the kids?” “Mostly okay.”
“Mostly?”
“Still a lot of stress. PTSD even.” Larry opened and closed his hands. “Especially Matu and Kidu. They’re twelve or so years old and have this ‘let’s kill them all’ approach to the Tork problem. But I think they’re starting to realize that a warrior’s priority is taking care of the living. And Daru’s been really somber lately. Almost depressed. Havin’ a hard time shaking the violence I guess.”
As Larry related the other children’s recent activities, Brent erected a tripod using thick lengths of saplings over the pit.
In a few minutes, flames appeared over the edge of the fire pit, Brent hung a metal pot full of water over it. “Kristi?” No expression crossed his face.
