by Socha, Walt
Her lungs expanded as she gazed at her surroundings. In spite of the blood and the bodies it looked…new.
She turned at the sound of hoofbeats. Brent rode into the clearing on one of the spare horses, He reined up beside Larry and swayed in the saddle. Blood seeped from beneath the leather wrapped around his thigh.
At the water’s edge, the three remaining warriors dropped their weapons, backing toward empty canoes, faces blistered, eyes bloodshot. Along the downstream trail, past Potts and Hatimu’s bodies, other warriors fled. “Everyone away from the river.” Larry’s voice broke the relative silence as he slipped from Mojo’s back.
Kristi’s eyes swept the clearing, settling on Larry. He looked even more frantic than during the fighting, waving Haven’s survivors away from the river as he jogged down the bank.
She took one more look at Nist’s body and started up the bank. Up on the trail, she could see Tanuhu and Niminu standing by their barrier, looking confused. Likely because they were alive. Closer, Alita wrapped a piece of Joe’s shirt around Nikaku’s arm.
Larry dragged one of the wounded enemy onto shore. Blood gushed from a thigh wound. Larry hesitated a second, and then ripped off the man’s leather loincloth and pressed it against the flow of blood.
Kristi changed direction, sprinted to Larry’s side, and knelt.
He opened the man’s mouth with his free hand. “He’s got those blisters in his mouth just like that warrior I captured.”
Kristi stared, her elation at being alive plummeting into an icy new fear.
“Smallpox?” Joe’s question carried over the gentle whisper of the slow flowing Susquehanna.
Kristi nodded. She glanced across the river. Two canoes disappeared around Bird Island. A third drifted downstream as the three paddlers struggled to steer the heavy boat.
She opened her shoulder bag. Found a hemostat and, nudging Larry away, clipped the artery closed. The warrior’s forehead was hot.
“This one’s sick too.” Larry held one hand around the arm of a second warrior. Blood oozed between his fingers. Kristi glanced up to see Brent sliding off his horse.
She hesitated. His bandage didn’t seem to be bleeding enough for arterial damage. “Alita, help Brent. Then get him and everyone away from the river.”
“There are four more wounded.” Joe pointed along the bank.
“Leave them for Larry and me. No contact by anyone.” She looked directly at Alita, now supporting Brent. “Make sure.”
Alita nodded and helped Brent up the bank.
Chapter 61. Day 203 - September 25
At the base of the tower, Joe lowered himself into a camp chair brought by one of the children. Most of the adult survivors sat around him in a semicircle, the Grandmothers also in chairs. Above, Kidu peered over the edge of the tower’s lookout platform, binoculars in hand. Behind the adults, the rest of the children stood in a larger arc. Maybe not all were children. Several had killed today.
“We’re not facing isolated cases. It’s an epidemic.” Kristi stood twenty yards downwind from Haven’s inhabitants. Next to her, Larry sat on Mojo, neither one now in armor.
Joe watched Kristi’s eyes. They were wide, flitting from person to person, only meeting his for short seconds before moving on. Her facial muscles quivered, her composure barely under control. She’d just finished remotely supervising Alita’s patching up of Brent and Nikaku.
Joe shifted in his camp chair. His head wound no longer bled, but he was still unsteady. Minor concussion, he thought. He’d been damned lucky. His eyes fell on Alita. If not for her… Warmth rose through him and, as if she’d felt his eyes, she turned and smiled at him briefly. A woman in this world...
And Samatu? He looked over his shoulder toward Haven. Larry had housed Samatu, and the few white striped warriors who still lived, in the tack hut, now a quarantine area once again.
As he turned back to his group, two plumes of smoke across the river caught his eye, betraying the presence of Tork’s remaining warriors. He hoped it was only the presence of those able to re-cross the river but too ill to attempt the journey downstream.
Joe turned to meet Larry’s eyes. “We need more information. I think Tork is broken, but we need to make sure. Are you able to row?”
Larry nudged Mojo a few paces closer. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the river’s edge beyond and below their hill’s surrounding trees. They now had several of the long war canoes. “I’d feel better if Brent...” Larry stopped and slumped in the saddle. He shook his head. “Kristi, are you able to cover me? I’ll drag our old canoe into the river. Tork’s war canoes are too big for a single paddler.”
Kristi’s eyes flickered from Larry to Brent who lay on the ground with his bandaged leg stretched out in front of him. He held a whimpering Zoey. Next to Brent, Nikaku sat with his right arm bandaged from wrist to bicep. Kristi took a long breath. “Yes.” She looked over her shoulder. “But no one’s to approach the sick hut.”
“Good,” said Joe. He looked across Snake Creek in the direction of the small burial mound, not quite visible through the trees. He didn’t need to see it to imagine the bodies of Potts and Hatimu lying on its summit. Or Flicker lying at the base of the mound, too heavy to drag to the top. They would enlarge the mound to include her. “Let’s meet here in four hands,” he said, glancing up at the sun.
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Joe allowed Alita to help him to the chair, very aware of the warmth of her shoulder beneath his arm. At least she was safe. For now.
He settled into the chair, still weak. The Elders sat on chairs or lowered themselves onto the ground around him, once again putting him at the focus of Haven. Behind them sat most of the children. Above, Daru leaned on the tower railing, binoculars hanging from his neck.
Kidu approached from the direction of the burial mound, his face haggard. He’d taken on the job of opening the bellies of the dead. Marisa insisted an exit be made for their spirits. Kristi supported her, probably thinking to avoid any bloating. Even Flicker’s belly was cut. The elders were not happy about the horse being buried in the mound. But none of them were willing to argue to Brent’s cold face.
Joe breathed in, exhaled, and nodded to Larry. “We had no problems checking out Tork’s camp.
They’re all sick.” Larry stood downwind from Haven’s inhabitants as Mojo grazed nearby. “I found Brent’s AR15 in the largest hut.” Larry looked at his friend who sat with one leg stretched out and a hand on Zoey’s head. “But let me clean it and the ammo first. There may be pox residue.” Joe closed his eyes, breathed. Opened them. The small band that had circled to attack the fort had almost breached the walls by the time Brent swept through them. Two had been on the palisades and had fallen, wounded, within the walls. The women and the older children had killed them as well as the wounded attackers outside the fort. No child had been injured, but they had come in contact with the bodies. Bodies with blisters.
“Most of Tork’s surviving warriors fled downstream.” Kristi stood next to Larry, her voice calm, without any hint of her earlier terror. Fatigue filled her features. “The remaining warriors are almost too sick to take care of themselves.” She looked at Larry. “A few of the slave women were left behind. They’re also ill.”
“They have some food and water. I’ll go back tomorrow morning and take them additional food.” Fatigue also colored Larry’s voice. “And I’ll make sure they’ve still got lots of clean water.” Larry’s head turned toward the clearing at the mouth of Haven’s creek. “And I’ll start doing something with the bodies.”
“Your recommendations?” Joe felt Alita’s hands on his shoulders. She had remained behind his chair after helping him. He leaned back and allowed himself to take comfort from her presence.
“There’s been too much contact.” Kristi’s voice broke. “It’s too late for isolation.”
“What of making an inoculant from the existing sick?” Joe met Kristi’s eyes, and then glanced toward the former tack hut.
/> “The results will be totally unpredictable.” Kristi slowly shook her head.
“It was done in the eighteenth century.” Joe thought back to his anthropology classes in school. Way back—or was it forward?—in time. A lifetime ago.
“Any inoculant I make could kill as easily as protect.” Kristi said, gazing at Joe. “There’s no time to test anything.” Joe lowered his eyes at Kristi’s gaze. He watched his hands close and open. Contact with European diseases had killed up to ninety percent of the population of the Americas. A haunting number. The elders and the children had no immunity. None at all. Nor did he. He glanced up at Kristi, Brent, and then Larry. They had been vaccinated at one time or another.
Walk a different path…
He gazed at Kristi. Fear and indecision clouded her face. He took a deep breath. Shit, it had to be done. But if he was wrong he’d be killing Haven.
“Our people were decimated by smallpox. If you don’t prepare a powder or liquid from the sick, then I will.” His words came out harsher than he’d intended, but Kristi’s face relaxed a little as she took in a deep breath. Because he had taken the burden from her? Was that what it meant to really lead?
She nodded.
Joe looked around at Haven’s inhabitants. “Kristi will prepare a minor sickness. It will be made from the killing sickness that afflicts Tork’s warriors.” He glanced at Kristi. She gave one small nod, eyes leaking tears. “A few will die from the minor sickness. But all will die without it.”
Furrowed brows and scowls met Joe’s gaze.
Marisa rose, using Sesapa’s shoulder for support. “You would pass the sickness from the dying to us?” Fear and anger contorted her face. “You did not have the power to save that sick white clay dog a partial moon ago. Why do you think you can give us the sickness and then save us now?”
Joe felt a cold dread surge through his core. He had to convince them; they would die otherwise. He glanced at Larry who shrugged and looked down. But Brent met his gaze. Kept it as he raised his right hand in front of his chest and made a tight fist.
Joe closed his eyes. Would he kill these people?
He stood, feeling Alita’s hands slip from his shoulders. They had what? Two weeks of incubation period before people started to show symptoms? Maybe less? “I command you to accept Kristi’s small sickness.” He took a deep breath. “Kristi, Brent, and Larry took the small sickness while in the Far Lands so they will not get sick. I did not. I will take it first, and while I will get sick, I will not die as the warriors have died and as you will die if you do not obey me.”
Joe felt hands grasp his arm. “No,” Alita said in a small voice.
Chapter 62. Day 204 - September 26
Joe poured a bucket of dirt over Potts’s body. Slowly.
Allowing the sandy earth to flow into the crevices between his torso and arm, between his legs.
He felt a hand take the bucket from his fingers.
Allowed Alita to lead him down from the mound.
He watched as Larry refilled buckets from an earth- filled tarp. They would need to work out a better method of moving earth than dragging it; their last remaining tarp was ragged and torn. It would be useless after today. Joe watched as Haven’s inhabitants covered Potts and Hatimu. And Flicker. After the ceremony, the hard labor of adding a topping layer of several feet of rock and earth would begin. Later.
Kristi poured the last bucket of the funeral ceremony. Her shoulders slumped as she climbed down from the shallow mound. “Joe, would you say a few words?” she asked, her eyes red.
He stepped forward, leaving the comfort of his companions, and stood alone at the base of the mound. “We are gathered here today to honor the memory of two great men and one faithful companion.” At the edge of the mound, one of Flicker’s stiff legs protruded from the fresh, sandy earth.
Joe glanced at Kristi. She was writing his words in her journal.
“Potts accompanied us from another world. From the Far Lands. He came here to help us, to help Haven. Yesterday, he gave his life to protect us, to protect Haven.” Joe drew in an unsteady breath. “Hatimu joined us in spite of danger. At no time did fear deter him. He, too, died to protect us, to protect his new home of Haven.”
Joe looked at the largest bulge of dirt. Brent had covered her head with one of his shirts before pouring the first layer of coarse sandy soil. “Flicker had a big heart. Big in working for us. Big in protecting us.” Joe felt his voice break. A gentle hand guided him back into the small crowd.
Joe heard, as if from a long distance, the others saying words. He would read Kristi’s journal later.
Finally there was silence. And the movement of people as the small group milled around, talking in low voices.
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“Joe?”
Joe looked up from his seat around the fire circle.
Kristi stood in front of him.
“I went through Potts’s things. I found these.” She held out two worn spiral bound notebooks. “I had given them to him a few days after he joined us.”
Joe took the notebooks and squinted at them in the dim evening light. Opened one. The title page read ‘Economics, Trade, and History.’ Below was written ‘Jess Bosley.’
Joe stared, started to shake his head, and stopped as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “I never knew his real name.”
“The second notebook is on Buddhism.”
Joe opened it and read ‘Buddhism as a Journey.’ Below was the same name.
“Could I look at that one?” Brent’s voice sounded as if it came from far away.
Joe held the two books for several seconds before handing ‘Buddhism as a Journey’ to the man seated next to him. He glanced from Brent to his other companions. Companions who had just survived a war. And now faced a new battle. If they survived this second one, they would need all the information they could acquire.
“Do you have any more empty notebooks?” Joe asked, looking up at Kristi. “We had talked about filling them with what we know. But I never followed up.”
“Had a couple dozen. Used about half of them recording medical knowledge from my laptop,” she said. “They’re field notebooks; the pages are a mix of plastic and plant fiber. They should last centuries.”
Joe faced Brent. “Would you record everything you know? Botany, geography, whatever?”
At Brent’s nod, Joe looked at the others. “We need everyone to start recording everything. Not just medical and botany. Also iron, weaponry, technology. Even geology. Anything that will help our people.”
Our people. He felt his face relax into a smile for what seemed like the first time in days.
Chapter 63. Day 205 - September 27
Joe stepped outside into the late September sunshine.
Still plenty hot. And dry. They might be in the middle of the Medieval Warm Period, but winter was only a few months away. He straightened up. Pulled back his shoulders. The sooner he got this over, the sooner he could get back to the crops.
As he walked around his tent, he saw that most of Haven was already assembled in front of Kristi’s hospital. The large canvas tent was showing wear, dirt, and several rips. They’d need to construct a more substantial structure before winter. Something with a fireplace. Larry had promised them a stove and chimney when iron ore was found. Not this winter.
Alita ran to meet him and took his hand. He returned her squeeze of greeting. He needed her touch and it suddenly hit him just how much he needed it, needed the courage it gave him.
Kristi sat at the table set up in front of the tent and looked up as they approached. He nodded.
“Roll up your sleeve.” Her tone was matter of fact, but her haunted eyes betrayed her. She took a small square of cloth—probably cut from one of her own shirts—and wet it from the last bottle of Potts’s scotch. Wiped a section of his upper arm.
She met his eyes again. Joe nodded a second time.
Kristi took a small scalpel and dipped it into a battered steel cup contai
ning an inch of the scotch. Then, after removing the cap from a small jar, she lowered the tip into its contents, a powder made from the dried scabs of the dead warriors. She removed the scalpel, closing the jar immediately. She stood, held on to Joe’s arm and made two quick puncture marks.
She placed the scalpel in the cup of scotch again and applied a small bandage to the punctured area.
“Keep hydrated.” She let out a long breath. “Good luck.”
“I am next.” Alita stepped up next to Joe.
Joe looked at her, and his blood pounded in his ears.
It was right. He knew that now. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late. He reached for her hand and held it while Kristi swabbed Alita’s arm.
Within minutes, all of Haven’s inhabitants had been inoculated. Except two.
Joe looked around. As expected, Marisa and Niminu hadn’t shown up. He sighed. The old medicine woman hadn’t wanted anything to do with Kristi’s inoculation. She and her husband had moved into one of the huts that still stood in the village of Two Valleys. And took Niminu’s carved totem with them.
Chapter 64. Day 207 - September 29
Joe lowered the binoculars as footsteps vibrated the tower’s ladder. He helped Alita onto the platform.
“Hey, thanks for bringing lunch.”
Alita set the covered bowl on the platform’s bench. “Brent said it was his best stew yet.” She bit her lip. “I think it burns too much.”
Joe laughed, his heart lightening. “I take it he added some of the hot peppers?”
Alita gazed over the river. “Potts had been very excited that the hot peppers were growing well.”
Joe followed her eyes. The river presented an idyllic landscape, a shimmering reflection of sunshine flowing through towering green ridges.
“Is that Larry?” Alita pointed to a canoe at the downriver end of Bird Island. “Brent cooked a large pot of soup this morning for Tork’s sick warriors and cook women.”
