Savage Survival

by Darrell Bain

Lyda climbed up on one of the waist high trays and stood on one corner of it, balancing easily. It put her head above the crowd so everyone could see her. Elijah stood to one side of her and Rayne the other. Elijah put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. The talking ceased and Lyda took the cue.

  She gave the gathering the most engaging smile she possibly could and was pleased to see it answered here and there in the crowd. “Thank you all for attending, especially those of you who like to sleep late."

  That drew a laugh and she continued. “It's great that some of you volunteered to teach classes for the rest of us who don't know as much as you do.” More chuckles. It's going good, she thought. “I know I'm going to attend all of the classes that don't overlap, because I sure don't know as much as I should. Mister Goldberg has volunteered to remain in charge of the organization of the school and..."

  A big man with a belligerent countenance stepped forward. “Who the hell are you to be telling adults what to do, kid? Who put you in charge of this place?"

  Elijah opened his mouth to say something, but Lyda waved him to silence. This was something she would have to settle herself. She felt her heart begin beating faster. She put her hands behind her so no one could see that she was clenching her fists to keep her hands from trembling.

  “What's your name, Mister?"

  “Huh? What does it matter? I asked who put you in charge?"

  “It matters because you're acting like you should be the one up here instead of me. Would you like to take over?"

  That appeared to deflate him to a degree, but he was still defiant. “No, I just don't like kids telling me what to do."

  Lyda pegged him as the type she had seen among the kids at school, always willing to criticize, but never willing to take responsibility. They were hard to shut up. “Well, if you're not even willing to give your name, or do anything yourself, you're perfectly welcome to go somewhere else, while those of us who do want to make this place into something besides a bunch of lotus eaters can get on with the job."

  “I don't have to go anywhere!"

  “So you don't. But will you please let the rest of us get on with what we're doing?"

  “I don't have to..."

  “Oh shut up, Barney. Let her talk. I'd rather listen to her than you,” Rayne said.

  “Yeah, be quiet. I want to listen, too,” someone from the crowd spoke out.

  Assents from others drowned out whatever else Barney intended to say. A jumble of conversations began, then stopped as Goldberg whistled again.

  “You're all fools,” Barney said and pushed his way to the back of the gathering. Lyda followed him with her eyes and smiled to herself when she saw that he retreated, but stopped while he was still within hearing.

  “No one who wants to live compatibly with others and who tries to learn new things is a fool,” Lyda said. “There's lots of stuff we can do, both for amusement and education, just by finding out what everyone did before being captured. For instance, is there anyone here who knows how to play chess? If so, we can make pieces and anyone who wants to can learn. We could have tournaments and such. Same for checkers. I bet most of you know how to play checkers, and I promise, it's not just a kids’ game. There's lots of strategy to it.” She grinned. “Dad used to beat me regularly until I got on the internet and found out how much there is to it. He still beat me after that, but not so bad and not as often.

  “I'll bet we can make cloth out of the tendrils here, too.” She reached down and pulled one up to show. “They can be cut into real narrow strips and woven together."

  A slow wave of positive nods passed over the crowd and Lyda took that as an indication that she could push a little harder. “Barney wasn't completely out of line, either. No one appointed me as leader here. Maybe you'd rather see someone else have the job. If so, we could have an election. Why don't you think about that and talk about it for a couple days, then we can bring it up at our morning meeting in ... say, two days from now. Is that okay?"

  Again, nods and words of assent. Lyda kept the rest of the meeting short, making only one more major suggestion. “I found out at the last place I was at that things worked better when someone was in charge of various duties, like helping the younger children, handing out food—except so far, there seems to be plenty of that—arranging for the ones most in need to get new clothing, and oh—all sorts of stuff. Why don't you think about that overnight and let's all listen in the morning to ideas about things we need to do, and who's the best qualified for different stuff and so forth. Okay?"

  Assent again. Lyda decided to quit while she was ahead, but she found out that like a preacher after church or a lecturer after a talk, she couldn't just up and leave. Many wanted to stay and talk to her. She did the best she could, even when most of the questions asked of her had to do with her adventures in the desert. She answered, but downplayed her accomplishments, rather than trying to exaggerate them, taking her cue from advice Gary had given her. She wondered where Gary was now, along with the others she had led. She hoped each of them had escaped the second capture, but somehow doubted they had; the spider mechs had been numerous and thorough in herding humans aboard the transports.

  * * * *

  Lyda thought some more about the need for at least a minimal amount of writing. During the afternoon, she experimented with the tendrils and her little paring knife. It was losing its edge but it was the saw-tooth variety; it would cut for a long time yet. She laid out some tendrils and began carving letters of the alphabet from them, making the letters as small as she could. After some practice, it worked well, even if was tedious.

  “What are you doing?” Betty asked when she hunted Lyda up to ask a question.

  “Making the alphabet. Want to help?"

  “Sure, but I don't have a knife."

  “Why don't you ask around and see who has one? If they won't loan it to you, ask them to come over here to me."

  Lyda could understand not wanting to loan anyone something as precious as a knife, and most especially the multiple tooled ones like the Swiss Army Knife that a man turned up with. However, she had little trouble talking the owners into helping with the project and soon was able to leave it in good hands. The next thing would be finding a way to easily attach and detach the letters to cloth, either the alien stuff from earth, or that she wanted to see created here. It would be a cumbersome system and the letters were perforce, large. It was also time consuming but that didn't matter; they had plenty of time. The problem was putting it to productive use.

  * * * *

  Aaron Sperlock was disgusted. His handsome, smooth featured face was beginning to show the faintest of frown lines again and he certainly couldn't get another face-lift here! Nor dye his hair again, either. After all his work, too. Like thousands of others, he had been captured by the alien spider mechs and dumped in the sparsely populated areas west of Duckworth, Nevada. Fortunately for him, he recognized a few landmarks from that damnable four years he had spent there in a state prison camp and was able to pinpoint his location. Using that knowledge, as if he had a mind brilliant enough to figure it out, he had connived, bullied, cajoled and on occasions, killed, in order to put himself in charge there. Of course, once he gained control of enough of the slim resources given to the captives by the aliens, he no longer had to do his own killing. Others did it for him, a couple men and one woman he was able to pick out as having minds similar to his own. And sex? No problem there, either. He had the best and the youngest. He knew how females gravitated toward powerful males, those with either money or influence. He used his charm first, of course; the charm that provided a veneer to conceal what lay beneath. Aaron Sperlock cared about other people only to the extent that they were useful to him. He felt no deep emotions, nor did he consider it a lack. Emotions like love and caring simply left people vulnerable, ready to be taken advantage of. He preyed on them like a fox among barnyard chickens.

  Aaron used the grief, confusion and despair of his fellow captives in
conjunction with his not inconsiderable charm and charisma to manipulate them into electing him leader of all he surveyed, right up to the alien boundary markers of his territory. While it wasn't the best life he could imagine, it sure beat that one prison stint or the times he had actually been forced to work for money rather than scamming the common herd out of it. He wondered occasionally what the aliens were up to, but he had confidence in his talents; he would come out on top, regardless. Maybe the aliens were looking for men like him to take charge on earth. If so, he would be more than glad to apply for the position. In the meantime, he was showing them just how easy it was to herd the marks, running them around to figurative slaughter like docile sheep.

  In this new environment, Aaron had already succeeded with his charm and intimidation campaign on the people who gathered with him around one of the ubiquitous columns that grew food and produced water for them; food and water in abundance, unlike the last place. There would be no way to use it as reward and punishment here, but there were other methods. First, though, he wanted to establish leadership over other nearby groups, and from there, branch out to the rest of them within walking distance. It wasn't that Aaron had such an unquenchable drive for power; he simply wanted to secure the best position possible, and that meant dominating everyone within reach if he could, and eliminating every threat to his well-being while he was at it.

  Aaron Sperlock's father had been a preacher and he found that his decision to pass himself off as an “All-faith” minister here was a good one. He laughed inside at the unquestioning acceptance of his assumed identity, and at the way most people were all too willing to follow his suggestions blindly, so long as he lathered them up with prayers and Biblical quotes remembered from childhood. He should have thought of this scam earlier!

  Aaron had his chief cohorts here already, two couples who thought it was a good idea to organize all humans within the environs of what most people thought was a spaceship, and to bring the gospel to them—whether they desired it or not. He sent the couples out on scouting expeditions to nearby columns to see what was developing around him and to test the atmosphere. No sense risking his own valuable self when there were always others willing to take the risks for him.

  Ervin and Mary, one of the couples that followed and agreed with him, had just returned.

  “Reverend Sperlock, there's several groups near us that we think are ready for the gospel. We've told them that we would be back and that you would come with us to preach,” Ervin said.

  Aaron nodded appreciatively. Ervin spoke while Mary listened. His doctrine of male superiority was taking hold nicely here, just the way he wanted. He was already being served by several female acolytes who saw clearly that in the absence of laws and rules, police and courts; men would dominate simply on the basis of their strength. It didn't take much to convince the men, and the women who didn't like it soon departed. Aaron didn't mind; he would eventually get to them again. It was easy to motivate people in a vacuum of leadership like he had found, especially with the verbal enforcement of pious sounding quotes and his spurious mantle as a minister of the gospel.

  “That's fine, Ervin. You've done well. You too, Mary. You're a fine helpmate to Ervin. What else have you found out?"

  “We ran across another group that's being led by some little girl. They're pretty well organized but the Devil is loose there. Hardly anyone prays, or blesses the food the Lord has provided."

  “What do they do?"

  “Oh, she's got them making cloth from that greenery that grows in the trays, and attending classes she talked some of the professor types into teaching and..."

  “What kind of classes?” Aaron was intrigued. A little girl as a leader? He wondered if he could use her to reinforce his own position. All through the southern tier of states where he was raised, there had been child preachers, like “Bible Betty", the ten year old and “Preacher Larry", the boy who got the call at six and went on to found a televangelist empire. Kids were naturals when they had the talent, and easy to control. This would bear looking into!

  Ervin tried to remember. “Well, there's a storytelling class, where a lady goes on about books she's read, and a ... what do you call making clothes?"

  “Tailoring,” Mary supplied.

  “Yeah, tailoring. They've got some people that own scissors or knives helping. One man is teaching algebra and..."

  “How the hades is he doing that without books?"

  “They carved alphabet letters and stuff out of the green things from the trays. Then there's the chess and checkers classes and they've got the little kids all going to a kind of kindergarten school. I didn't listen much to them. Oh yeah, there's one old dude teaching a history of religion, but it sure don't sound like it's from the Bible, does it, Mary?"

  “No, I heard him saying religion came naturally to humans and didn't need divine inspiration. The day I was there, he started off with a review of what he had talked about earlier, then went on. He was into Jews that day and saying how he would show how the Jewish religion developed and helped Christianity grow."

  “Jews! The ones who killed Christ!” Aaron fixed his face into its usual pious expression. “Such blasphemy when we need faith and prayer. I'll have to arrange a real old time revival at that place."

  “Praise the Lord,” Mary said, hiding her dislike of Aaron Sperlock and Ervin, the man she had chosen to protect her because he owned a large folding knife. He paid more attention to religion than to sex, which suited her fine. Sex was great with the right person, but she wanted to be the one to choose.

  * * * *

  Lyda had been elected as “Mayor” of the group, though not without opposition. To still any complaints, she asked her erstwhile opponents, two men and a woman, to help her and Elijah create a constitution.

  “It's more like just some simple rules that we can all abide by instead of like the constitution we studied in school. I'll tell everyone what you're doing and they can make suggestions, but it's you three and Elijah and me who will have the final say."

  “Isn't that kind of dictatorial?” Troy, one of the men asked. He had been a teacher before being captured.

  “No, because we'll have everyone vote on what we come up with, then once a month, say, or as near as we can judge, we'll have a general meeting where people can suggest changes. How does that sound?"

  Troy nodded. He was having a hard time finding fault with Lyda's leadership, even though he had opposed her. “You always seem to be one step ahead of everyone else. That sounds good to me. How about you all?"

  Marcia and George, the other two Lyda had selected, spoke together.

  “Fine."

  “Sounds good."

  “Okay, get with Elijah and see when he has a spare time slot to go over it with you. And if you need to write things, Betty and Sue and their gang have carved out lots of letters. You can spread them out on the ground like words on a blackboard. In fact, that would help me, too. I'm having trouble getting everything done and seeing this in writing will keep what we agree on straight in my mind."

  “May I make a suggestion ... Miss Brightner?” Troy asked.

  “Sure."

  “Don't try to do everything at once. You can't and no one else can, either. Spread your duties out a bit and leave a little time for relaxation."

  “I guess you're right,” Lyda admitted. “Mom and Dad used to make me quit reading and go play with the dog or my friends for at least an hour every evening."

  “They sound like they were fine parents,” Marcia said.

  “They ... were.” Lyda wiped at suddenly wet eyes and looked away. The others caught it though, and understood that their Mayor had depths beyond a talent for leadership. She could suffer, just as they had.

  * * * *

  “Hello, young lady. I'm Reverend Aaron Sperlock from a couple of columns over. I hear you're in charge here."

  Lyda eyed the handsome, black-haired man with the big smile on his face who was extending a hand toward her. She too
k the hand out of politeness rather than enthusiasm, noting as she did that an inch or two of his hair next to the scalp was growing out with a lot of gray in it. Vanity, she thought, but she knew some adults dyed their hair. Not many men, though. In fact, none that she could think of.

  “My name is Lyda Brightner. Most of the folks call me either Mayor or Miss Brightner. What kind of church are you a reverend in?” Lyda didn't smile.

  “I'm a reverend of all faiths, young ... uh, Mayor. I believe that all are welcome in God's house. And, as a matter of fact, I'm sort of a mayor myself."

  “What can I do for you, Reverend?” Lyda asked.

  “I've come to spread the word of God to all who will listen, in the fashion of an old time revival. Don't you think our circumstances call for a return to the faith of our forefathers?"

  “Frankly, I think hard work and organization are the first thing we should be concerned with. However, if anyone here wants to listen to you, they're perfectly welcome. You'll have to have your revival far enough away from here so that it doesn't interrupt classes or work, though."

  Aaron's huge smile had gradually faded from his face. Where he thought to find a naïve little girl, he found himself facing a beautiful, still developing young woman; one who appeared to have her people well organized and busy. He could change that, though. Just give him time and he would have them praying instead of weaving—or praying while they weaved. Maybe even praying to me, he thought. Why not? That's how the Catholics do it, using priests as intermediaries to God.

  “Well, whatever you say, Mayor, but I should think you would cancel other activities long enough for your people to listen to a man of God; to have someone lead prayers to God to return us to the free worl—to earth, I mean,” Sperlock said.

  “I just told you that anyone who cares to can listen. They can skip classes as well. Just do your preaching far enough away so that those who aren't interested don't have to be bothered. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  Lyda left the preacher and headed directly to a spot by one of the small boxes where Elijah could usually be found. He looked up when he saw her coming.