Saber Tooth (Dawn of Mammals Book 1)

by Lou Cadle

  “What’re you thinking?” asked Ted.

  She saw no reason not to share her train of thought.

  “We could push them down hard,” he said. “Way into the ground. Then they wouldn’t be knocked over so easily.”

  “Maybe. If they snap off the tree easily, though, they’d snap if we put too much pressure on them.”

  “Let’s see.” He sat, straddling the big tree, and pulled at one of the smaller limbs. He leaned back, putting more and more effort into it. Finally, with a loud crack, it broke off. “Not too easy to break that,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said. “It’s a start. But we’ll need longer branches than that one.”

  Laina and Garreth came over. “What’s going on?” Garreth asked.

  Ted explained.

  “Like a stockade, in the American West,” said Garreth.

  Hannah said, “Right, but we don’t have time to get that fancy, so a little farther apart.”

  “They had sharpened tops.”

  “No time for that—and not worth the effort for one night—but sure, that’s the idea,” she said. She was pleasantly surprised how bright these kids were. Not every group she’d dealt with in the park system had been. The poor choices of campfire-building alone made you wonder just how lacking in common sense some people were. But then these were some sort of science honors students, taking a summer course by choice. They weren’t stupid, she reminded herself. Just young.

  Young could be good. These three seemed to be ready to get to work, despite having no food, and despite the short rest. She had to grit her teeth against her exhaustion to keep going. She was thirty-three. M.J. in his forties. Bob, nearly sixty. She had to keep that in mind when assigning work.

  She left these three building the stockade and walked over to the others. “Okay, guys,” she said, interrupting two conversations. She noticed Claire still looked glummest of them all. “Here’s the thing. We need to think about a bunch of stuff, in this order.”

  “Food?” said Zach, hopeful.

  “Yes, but not first. Shelter, water, fire, food. In that order.” She pointed to the three working. “They’re starting the shelter, and it looks like it won’t rain, and it’s not terribly cold. Since it’s just for one night, and there aren’t any rain clouds, we won’t worry about a roof for this shelter. But we will tomorrow. She pointed at the stream. We have water, and so far it hasn’t made us sick. That’s good. So now we have to have fire. Anyone have a lighter or matches?” She had a fire starter on her knife, but a back-up would be good.

  Dixie slowly raised her hand. “I have a lighter.”

  Two of the kids turned to look at her.

  “What? My boyfriend smokes.”

  “Which boyfriend?” asked Garreth.

  “None of your business,” she said.

  Hannah said, “How is it for fuel? Full? Is it new or old?”

  While Dixie was digging in her backpack looking for it, the others were staring at Hannah, waiting for more.

  “We need volunteers to collect wood. And dried dung, which there should be a whole lot of out here.”

  “You want us to pick up animal turds?” asked Rex. “Isn’t that unsanitary?”

  “We don’t want the fresh ones. The ones that are light in color and dry. They’ll have grass visible in them, and it’ll burn.”

  Garreth called over, “Pioneers burned buffalo chips all the time for fires.”

  “Right,” said Hannah. “So who are our volunteers for that?”

  M.J. jumped up and said, “I’m totally into animal droppings. Usually fossilized, but I can adapt to the moment.”

  She was grateful for his enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

  Hands went up from everyone but Dixie and Rex, but when Nari saw that Dixie’s hand wasn’t up, she put hers down.

  Hannah decided she needed to break up the pair, the sooner the better. “Nari, Zach, Jodi, and M.J. You’re on fuel detail.”

  They all stood and moved off. M.J. was breaking them into two teams of two, and talking about working on opposite sides of the stream. Bob stood up slowly, and once he was up pressed his fist to his back. “I’ll help.”

  She wanted him to rest. He looked tired. “I need you as lookout. If you can get up high—even on top of that fallen trunk would be good—and keep a lookout for animals we should worry about.”

  When he had agreed to that, that left Dixie, Claire, and Rex. “Okay, we need to start thinking about food—and about not becoming food, too. Come on over closer to where these guys are putting up the stockade, so they can listen.”

  Once she had them all together, she said, “So you guys are in school. What have you learned about how people found food before there were grocery stores?”

  Chapter 13

  They all looked blank. Garreth finally said, “They hunted. But we don’t have any rifles or bows or anything like that.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “And bows take some skill to make and use. But further back, people used spears, and clubs, and rocks. Those are hunting tools. And, best of all, we have brains. Have you ever seen anything on TV about the hunters who drove animals over cliffs? All you need for that is the ability to make noise. You guys can do that, I bet.”

  Rex said, “I don’t see any cliffs.”

  “We haven’t explored far,” she pointed out. “But put that aside for a moment. None of you come from families that hunt?”

  Her voice flat, Claire said, “My dad does, but my mother didn’t want him to teach me. I know how to fish.”

  “There you go. If there are fish in this stream—or another we might find, we could fish. But I’m thinking we’d catch more if we could make a net, stretch it all the way across the stream, and catch everything that came by while it was up.”

  Claire seemed to rouse herself. “I think that’s illegal.”

  “It is, because it can result in overfishing. But we’re the only people on the planet. And I don’t just mean we can get away with it because there’s no game warden to catch us. We can control how much we fish and not overfish any one place.”

  Garreth said, “What if we’re causing one of those time paradox things, where we kill the last of a species of fish that ended up being trout, and back in the future, trout are gone?”

  “We’re going to have to risk that, I’m afraid,” she said.

  “I’m hungry now,” said Dixie.

  “No kidding,” said Ted.

  “So am I. We all are. But people can go without food three days, easy, as long as there’s water. And that, we have plenty of. We’re lucky,” she said. “We could have popped out into a desert. But the cave was only an hour’s walk from water.”

  “So what do we do for food today? Or tomorrow?”

  She didn’t answer directly. “I know a few wild plants that are edible. But the problem is, it’s thirty million years ago. They may or may not exist. They may exist but be toxic in this time. It’s going to take some experimenting.”

  “You’re saying that’ll take time, too,” said Laina.

  “That’s right. Between finding a plant and being sure it’s safe to feed all of us might be two or three days. It won’t hurt to start looking now.”

  Ted said, “You’re saying, no dinner?”

  “Afraid so,” she said. “Do any of you know anything about weaving, or macramé, or rope-making?” The last was a stab in the dark. Who knew about rope-making these days?

  “I embroidered a little when I was a kid,” said Laina. “But it’s not the same thing at all.”

  “If no one else knows, then we’ll have to figure it out by ourselves. But I do know of a couple ways to make simple cordage. One is, you twist, and the other is, you braid. I bet most of you know how to braid. Dixie, you’ve probably braided your hair, and Laina.”

  “I can French braid,” said Dixie.

  “Fantastic. I bet you a four-strand braid is stronger than a three-strand. So I want you and Rex to start trying to make some twine.”
<
br />   “With what?”

  “Grass. It’s all around us. I’ve noticed there are a couple of different kinds. Pick the longest, and start trying to make the beginning of a fishing net.”

  “Sounds boring,” said Dixie.

  “How does starving sound?” Hannah asked her.

  She looked down to pick at a cuticle. “Whatever.”

  “Okay, then, Rex and Dixie, go out there a dozen feet, find some long grass, and start braiding.”

  Bob was perched on the log. “I can help. I can watch and braid at the same time.”

  “Great. That’s the spirit. One of you pick him a lapful of grass and bring it to him first, then sit down together. You can learn from each other’s success and failure.”

  She turned to Claire and held out her hand. “Let’s you and me start hunting for plant food. Maybe we’ll luck out and find dinner.”

  Chapter 14

  Claire let out a deep sigh. But she took the hand up and they began to walk back downstream. In the near distance, Jodi gave them a smile and a wave, holding up a handful of twigs. Hannah gave her a smile and a thumbs up. Staying cheerful was starting to wear on her. She was a private person, and she treasured her hours alone, both at home, and in the wilderness.

  But it was what it was, as the saying went. She had to keep these kids alive.

  “What are we looking for?” Claire said.

  “You know what cattails are, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Those are great. An oak tree, with acorns. Any berries that look ripe. There may even be something like wild strawberries.” At this time of year, many berries would still be green. A few would be inedible year-round. But they might have some luck. “And you know what green onions look like, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” She sounded miserable.

  “Claire, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The girl stopped and rubbed at her eyes. “I just….” She sighed again, like the weight of the world was on her.

  Hannah stopped and glanced around. They were alone. “Go on.”

  “I’m gay.”

  Hannah waited for more. “And, um, that upsets you?”

  “No. I mean, people can be dicks, and they upset me about my being gay, but no. I’m okay with it. My mom is fine with it, too. It’s just that I have my first real girlfriend. It’s a pretty small school, so it’s not like I have a hundred choices of people to date.”

  “Ahh,” Hannah said.

  “And I was starting to think I’d never have one, and then Steph and I started hanging out. And I like her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I miss her.”

  “Of course you do.” Hannah wasn’t good with this sort of thing, but she hesitantly put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  Claire turned toward her and leaned her head against Hannah’s arm. “I’m lonely.”

  Hannah awkwardly patted the girl’s shoulder. “You have all of us.”

  “It’s not the same.” She backed off and grabbed her shirt to wipe her eyes.

  “No, it’s not.” Hannah was out of her depth, but she tried to pretend it was just a friend she was talking to, not a sixteen-year-old girl. “It sucks. I get it, really, I do. I bet Mr. O’Brien is married, right?”

  “Yeah. He is. She teaches shop at the junior high.”

  “He must miss her. And M.J. is married.”

  “He is?”

  “Yep. And Dixie mentioned a boyfriend.”

  “Dixie doesn’t keep them for long.”

  “You’re not alone, I mean. I know it doesn’t make it less painful, but maybe if you know others are in pain, too, you’ll feel less alone. And anytime you want to talk, I’ll listen.” She really didn’t want to, not when there was so much to get done in the next few days, but her heart went out to the girl.

  Who gave a tiny smile and said, “Anyway, onions, you were saying.”

  “Right.” She went on to describe a half-dozen native plants she thought might be here, though she’d double check with M.J. later on about the evolution of them. Could be that they weren’t here yet.

  It brought their situation back to her anew, full force, and she stopped walking.

  “What?” said Claire.

  “I was just thinking,” said Hannah. “I think most of our calories are going to come from meat, then fish, then tubers. Berries in season would come in fourth, maybe, or nuts. Nuts generally aren’t ready until fall. Hang on.” She bent to a clump of grass at the edge of the stream and pulled some. “I want to show you how to test a food to see if it’ll kill you.”

  “Whoa. Should you?”

  “No other choice. Here.” She crushed the grass and rubbed the wet stems on the back of her hand, then tucked it into her shirt pocket. “Let’s keep looking. There are trees ahead. Maybe one of them has something edible. Bark, leaves, something.”

  “What about the grass?”

  “We’re giving my body a few minutes to see if it hates it or not.”

  They kept walking slowly. A thicker blade than grass was poking out of the ground. “Find a stick for me, would you? Something thick and sturdy enough to dig with.” She glanced around for carnivores before she let Claire wander up towards the trees.

  A squirrel—or squirrel-like something—chittered from a tree limb as Claire drew close.

  Claire came back in a minute with a twig as big around as her thumb, and a palm-sized flat rock. “I thought you could dig with this, too.”

  “Good thinking.” She showed Claire the back of her hand. “See any redness, swelling, hives?”

  Claire looked closely. “Nope. You have freckles, though.”

  “So the second step is this.” She took the clump of grass out of her shirt pocket and rubbed it on one side of her lower lip.

  “And now you wait again?”

  “Right. Longer this time. So let’s dig at this thing here.”

  “I can do it,” said Claire.

  Hannah thought that was a good sign, that she was shaking off her mood. As Claire dug around the plant, Hannah touched her lip. No burning, or swelling, or blisters so far. Good. Grass was often safe, but you never knew. And it was thirty million years ago.

  Still hard to get her mind around that.

  Claire had dug up the plant carefully, and she held it up. Along with the new shoots, there was a thickened root. Tuber, corm, thickened stem, Hannah wasn’t sure which. But it might be edible. So might the shoots. “Ready to become a guinea pig?”

  “I guess.” She looked doubtful.

  “I’ll do this plant. And you can take over with the grass, which I think is going to be fine. My lip is okay, isn’t it?”

  Claire leaned in to look. “Seems fine.”

  “Then you get the next task with the grass.” She handed over the clump of it. “Don’t lose this, so we know which kind of grass we tested. Take three or four blades, chew it up, and spit it out. Don’t swallow much of the juice if you can help it.”

  “Why?”

  “Just being super-cautious. Like I say, it’s grass, and my best guess is, it’s not going to hurt anyone. I’m running through the tests faster than I would with a totally unfamiliar plant because of that. With this thing—” and she held up the tuber “—I’m going to spread the testing out over twenty-four hours, at minimum. Because I haven’t the least clue what it is.”

  “Here goes,” said Claire, and she counted out three stems, chewed them up, and spat them out. Then she spat again. “It’s juicy. And a little sweet.”

  “And super-low calorie, so not all that useful.”

  “So we can eat it?”

  “If you do fine with this stage of testing, and the next, what we can do is chew it up for a long time, until we get all the juice and pulp out of the stems, and then spit the rest out. It’d be a little rough on our digestive system to swallow.”

  “So we couldn’t live on it.”

  “Not even if we chewed all day, like those oreod
onts are doing.” She pointed to the distant herd. “Now you hang on, and I’m going to try and bring down a squirrel. Or—wait. You’re not some big softball star, are you?”

  Claire scoffed. “Because I’m a lesbian?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Because I need one. A terrific left fielder. But I’m not half-bad myself. Just sit still and wait, please.” She made her way nearer the stand of trees, looking for rocks big enough to brain a squirrel. There weren’t many, but the nearer to the water, the bigger the pebbles became. So she shoved her hand into the running water and felt around the stream bottom. Jackpot! She pulled up a handful and transferred them to her right hand. She was a lefty.

  She trod carefully, making as little noise as she could, but she thought the squirrel would likely see her, or hear her, before she saw it. She came under the shade of the stand of trees and stopped to let her eyes adjust. Another rodent chitter drew her eyes up. Two squirrels were chasing each other up and down a tree trunk, maybe an elm.

  Here goes nothing. She got a rock in her left hand, cocked her arm, and waited for a pause in the play—or fight, or mating ritual, hard to tell which—and when it came, she let fly.

  The rock hit the tree just over one’s head. It stopped for a split second, then scurried up the trunk. The other squirrel went down the trunk, reaching the ground, disturbing the duff for a second, and then going still.

  Or going underground.

  She tried to make as little noise as possible as she went forward, but there were rotting leaves from last year’s autumn underfoot, and they were dry and crunched with every step. As she neared the squirrel’s hiding place, she thought she saw the twitch of a leaf. Stopping to consider her best strategy, she decided she would throw more than one rock, and hope for dumb luck. Three was supposed to be a lucky number, right?

  The squirrel didn’t move. She wondered if it was holding its breath, trying to hide even that sound from her. She was sure holding her own breath. She kicked at the leaves. Kicked again.

  The little thing tore out of its hiding place and she let fly with her handful of rocks. They slammed against the tree trunk near the ground, and the squirrel got away.