by Lou Cadle
“I can keep the width and alter the length though, on the next bunch.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Either way.”
Nari said, “I’d like to sleep in it tonight.”
“We can,” said Hannah. “It’ll be just a short wall, and no roof, but if it makes people feel safer to sleep behind a wall, they can do that instead of staying in their debris huts.”
“Then we need to get started now,” said Bob. “Rex, I guess you or Hannah is the foreman.”
“I think I can direct the building,” Rex said, “But Hannah can decide who does what.”
Hannah let people volunteer for what they wanted to do. Nari wanted to work on making more bricks, so Hannah started with her, making sure she had the right consistency for the mud, talked her through how to add the straw, and made her two measuring sticks to keep the bricks consistent.
Nari said, “How did you do that before? Measure them, I mean?”
“Used my boot to measure. But I need my boots, so I can’t give one to you!” Hannah smiled at the girl. “I’ll be just over here, barely out of sight. I hate leaving you alone, but you can call out if you need us.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Nari said. “I won’t be talking, so a predator would have to stumble over me.”
“Okay. Just holler if you need us.” She went back to the cabin site to see how it was going.
The morning’s work had started slowly. Rex was meticulous, but Hannah had learned over the months—almost ten weeks, now—to let him have his head. His method of trial and error worked more quickly than anything she could have done. But that did mean they built two trial walls, tore them down, and were finishing that chore as Hannah arrived. The third time was the charm. Rex approved the wall.
Jodi said, “It’s none too big, is it? We’re going to be sleeping close again.” She shot Zach a look that Hannah caught.
Good thing we had that little talk. I hope it took.
The two of them had been digging holes for the posts. Bob had been collecting the sturdiest branches he could find for those, using the hand axe to take off side branches.
Rex said, “Okay, let’s get the posts finished and the first row of bricks.”
The practice before helped them find a rhythm of work quickly. The first course was laid in no time. The whole building was only about 10 by 15. There was room to walk along one side, with people lined up in a row and a center space for supplies to stay piled up. There was a door on one side, which they planned to make some sort of closure for, and they left another, smaller space on the opposite wall. Rex said he’d figure out some way to make a fire pit there that vented smoke outside while providing heat inside, useful if the nights got colder.
Hannah was happy to leave the brainstorming to him.
Bob and Ted went out to the fire to bring back the last of the fired bricks.
Rex said, “I wonder if we have to bake them all. If it’s possible to just use raw bricks now.”
“Sun-dried might be good enough,” Hannah said. “Not actually wet. In the shade here, it’d take them too long too dry, I’d think. But I still think it’d be stronger if we bake them.”
Ted and Bob came back, lugging a tall stack of finished bricks each.
Ted set his down, but Bob must have tripped over something. He stumbled, and fell, and the bricks went scattering out. One landed on Zach’s foot. He yanked his foot back and hopped on the other foot twice before putting it back down, gingerly.
Jodi was at his side in an instant. “You okay?”
“Yeah, surprised me more than hurt. Good thing I’m in hiking boots, though,” he said.
Hannah was more worried about Bob, who was lying on his side, curled up. She hurried to his side. “Bob? You okay?”
“No,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Did you break something? Strain something?”
“My chest,” he said, rolling over to his back and pressing a hand against his left side. “I think—heart.”
Chapter 14
“Bob!” Hannah said, fear shooting through her body like a poison. “You think you’re having a heart attack?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Hurts.”
She didn’t need to be told that. His voice, his face, the way he held himself told her he was in serious pain.
Hannah was out of her depth. She had training on a portable defibrillator. But that wasn’t going to do her any good here. She reached a shaky hand to his neck to check his pulse. “Can you breathe?”
“Hurts,” he said again.
She didn’t even know if flat on his back was the best position. Elevate his head? Feet? No idea. Calm down, Hannah. Think. Okay, airway was most important. He was breathing, in shallow breaths. “Jodi, come here,” she said.
In an instant Jodi was on her knees, at Bob’s side. “See if lifting his head onto your leg makes it easier for him to breathe,” she said.
“Hey, Mr. O’Brien,” Jodi said, scooting around. “Everything’s going to be okay.” As if Bob’s head were an egg she didn’t want to break, she lifted it and put it down gently on her calf.
“Better?” Hannah asked.
He raised a hand and made the “okay” sign.
Hannah’s mind flashed on the little packet of aspirin in the first aid kit. She had never used it for an injury. For one thing, she was usually trying to stop bleeding, not to thin the blood. And for another, two aspirin hadn’t been nearly enough to do anyone much good. Everyone had had to suffer with their pain up to now, including her. But now, these pills might actually do some good.
“Ted, somebody, my first aid kit,” she said.
In a few seconds, it was in her hand. She dug through it and found, at the bottom, the little packet that contained just two pills. She tore it open, said, “water,” and held out her hand. A bottle was slapped into it. She took one of the aspirin and bit into it.
Gah. Bitter, horrible stuff. She chewed it twice with her front teeth and then leaned over and stuck a finger into Bob’s mouth. She spit the crumbled-up aspirin in and said, “Swallow.”
His face showed his opinion of the taste, too. “Get it all down,” she said, holding the water bottle for him. “Raise his head a little more, Jodi.”
“Why’d you do that? Chew it up?” she said.
“Make it easier to swallow,” Hannah said, “And maybe work faster.” She could feel a piece of it stuck between her gum and upper lip. She fished it out, smashed it flat with her fingers and said, “Open wide, Bob.”
He opened his mouth.
She pushed the bit of aspirin under his tongue. “Try to keep it there. I know it tastes like crap.”
He made another face as the bitter stuff dissolved further. He lasted about a minute before holding his hand up for the water bottle.
She helped him drink more water. “Now relax, as much as you can. Don’t move, don’t worry, don’t even think.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Think about something nice, then.” She took the packet with the last aspirin and fished out one of the tiny zippered bags for fossil collection. She put it in there, zipped it up, and put it back in the first aid kit. Nothing else in there was of any use right now. Maybe the aspirin wasn’t, either, but it was all she could think to do for him.
Was Bob having a heart attack? He seemed fit, and he was a little young for it. But she didn’t know his medical history. Maybe his father had died of a heart attack at fifty. She should have asked everyone about medical history.
And then you would have done what, exactly, about that information?
The irritating inner voice was at it again. No, of course, she wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Except maybe nudge Bob toward less strenuous tasks. She probably should have done that anyway because of his age, though he might have balked.
Zach said, “Is he going to be okay?”
“Absolutely,” Hannah said. “It might just be angina. And he’s conscious, and breathing. So it can’t be
bad.”
It could be bad, but she didn’t want Bob to hear anything but complete optimism from her. Stressing him out with worry was the last thing she should do. She glanced behind her and saw a semi-circle of teenagers, kids who had known Bob for at least a year. Some of them had known his wife, too, a few years back when she had taught them. They were understandably worried.
And if Bob died, they’d be left with one adult. Her.
The reality of that hit her. However she’d been indulging her grief for Garreth…that had to stop right now. She was the leader. Even if Bob was having only a minor angina attack, she wasn’t going to let him do hard work for the whole rest of the time here in this epoch. He’d lie back, or he’d sit and make cordage. Period. No argument.
And that meant everything else fell to her. Everything.
And if you die?
She had to do something about that. Back when the saber tooth had attacked, she had talked about the kids appointing a leader. She needed to press them to do that. Ask them to sit down and hold elections, discuss it. Not now. Maybe not even in front of Bob. But soon. If Bob died of a heart attack, and she was killed by a hell pig or smashed flat by a uintathere or had a stupid accident, she didn’t want the group descending into chaos.
But who would she suggest? Rex was great at thinking through problems, great at engineering, but not so great at social interactions, and a little too inflexible. Laina, no. She knew the timegate, maybe, but she was too spacey to lead. Dixie, no way. Ted, possibly, if he were a little less of risk-taker. Zach—you know, he was maturing into quite a young man. Jodi, maybe. Claire, another good candidate.
But it really shouldn’t be up to her. It should be up to them. They would have to live with the decision. All she could do was point out qualities they should consider: a cool head in a crisis. Fair. Organized. It dawned on her that it would be a little like student council president voting, something they were familiar with. But this election carried life and death stakes.
Bob seemed to be breathing easier. His color was pale, but he looked to be in less pain, the creases around his eyes and forehead having smoothed out. Jodi was talking softly to him and his eyes were open. He seemed to be tracking everything the girl said.
Hannah patted his knee. “I’ll be right over here.” She rose to her feet and took the first aid kit back to her pack and put it away.
Laina said, “He’s okay?”
“Resting. And I think the aspirin helped already.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Zach asked.
“Chest pain. At worst, a heart attack. But it could just be pain, maybe a warning sign of heart problems to come. Either way, I want him to do no physical work at all for the next three weeks.”
“Until we jump, you mean,” said Laina.
“Exactly. And maybe not even then. There’s still plenty he can do. Make cordage. Sharpen spears, watch the campfire. But nothing that involves real work. In fact, he’ll be sleeping here tonight.”
Ted said, “We can carry him into the house.”
“Let’s make more house right now so he’ll be better protected,” she said. “Rex, where were we?”
It took them a few minutes to shift their focus, but soon everyone but Jodi was back to work. Hannah checked Bob in a half hour, telling Jodi, “Call out if you need anything,” and went back to help the work crew.
There was nothing she could do for Bob—not by hovering over him—but at least she could get them all better protected this night.
Chapter 15
By mid-afternoon, they had run out of bricks. Rex said, “I’m going to work on the design for the fireplace, if that’s okay.”
“Good,” she said. “Zach, you and Ted go gather grass the rest of the day. And plenty of it. We need bedding for Bob.”
They all had checked on Bob from time to time, but he seemed to be doing much better. “Hardly hurts,” he said, when she asked him about his chest. “Jodi can leave me alone, I think.”
“Rex is right here,” she said. “Okay with you, Rex? To watch Mr. O’Brien?”
“Sure,” Rex said. “Can I ask him questions?”
Bob nodded.
“Sure. Just don’t make him carry bricks.” She lowered her voice and said to Bob, “Seriously. You need to just sit there and do nothing. Got it?”
He saluted her, with a weak smile.
“Thank you, Jodi,” she said. “Let’s you and me get going on more bricks. We can fire them overnight and add at least another row to what we have tomorrow.”
First, she ran out to the fire and checked on the two girls. The fire was going strong. Dixie had—as requested—expanded the kiln area by digging. “Great,” Hannah said. “Looks like dinner is coming along, too.”
They had a pot of fish stew going. Zach had found some onions. Dixie was just adding a handful of them to the stew.
“Looks like there’s plenty of fillets to fry, too,” she said.
“The soup is made of everything else,” Dixie said. “Heads, tails, bones, but not the guts.”
“Good use of resources,” Hannah said.
Claire was looking strangely at her. As Hannah focused on her more, she made a face, and then put her finger to her mouth in a “shhh” sign.
“Uh, Claire, you okay?”
The girl shook her head, hard but fast. When Dixie glanced up, Claire schooled her face into a bland expression.
Something between the girls, then. “I want to look at your throat,” Hannah said. “Come over here, into the light.” The fire was shaded now by the sun going down behind the trees.
She did want to check Claire. She had the girl tilt back her head and looked at her throat. It was deep purple, all the way around. “Too bad we don’t have a mirror for you to see this,” she said. “That’s a spectacular bruise.”
Claire shifted herself so that Hannah blocked her view of Dixie. She pointed and mouthed something.
Hannah shook her head, not understanding.
“Be—”
“Don’t talk.”
Claire looked frustrated. She mimed writing.
“I’m out of paper.” Some had been used to start fires on wet days. There hadn’t been much to start with, just a bit to write down details of fossil finds to put in the bags with the fossils.
Claire frowned. Then she looked around, saw something, and walked over to the edge of the lake.
Hannah followed.
Claire dropped to her knees, grabbed a rock and wrote something in the patch of sandy dirt at the lake’s edge.
WATCH OUT!
Then she scrubbed it out with her hand.
Hannah looked at Claire, not understanding for a moment. Then she got it. “Dixie?” she whispered.
Claire nodded emphatically.
What now? Seriously, Dixie, what now?
Claire wrote something else. “Talk when?” She pointed to her throat.
“Not today,” Hannah said. “Tomorrow, maybe. Do you think you can eat today?”
Claire scrubbed out the last message and wrote, “Soup.”
“Oh! Of course. Good idea.”
“Hungry!” was the next message.
“I’m sure you are. But is the throat feeling better?”
She nodded, stood up, and wiped her hand on her pants.
“We were lucky, then. It could have been a lot worse.” Then she remembered. “Come on over to the fire.” She led the way and then explained to the two girls about Bob’s chest pains. They hadn’t seen him collapse.
“So he’s okay?” Dixie said. “Or not?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like we can call 911 and have a hospital run tests. It could be anything from—gosh, a pulled muscle, even, as he was carrying a load of bricks—to a serious heart attack.”
“Is he going to die?” Dixie demanded.
“I don’t know. Or yeah, we’ll all die one day. But he looks better now than he did a few hours ago. If he makes it through the night, I’m optimistic. Just don’t let
him do anything. He should hardly lift a finger tomorrow.”
“Who shouldn’t lift a finger?” It was Nari, bringing a load of bricks out.
Hannah had to explain.
Nari’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay?”
Hannah wavered between comforting the girl and telling the truth. She opted for truth. “I wish I knew. We just all have to keep an eye on him. He shouldn’t stand up for anything more than relieving himself tomorrow. And it’s going to be hard to convince him not to pitch in to harder work. Day after tomorrow, I predict that’s going to be a fight we have every day with him. So everybody stand firm. He can make cordage. The next day, he can flip fish on the cooking rocks. Nothing more strenuous than that.”
“Maybe I should have a heart attack,” Dixie said. “Get out of some work.”
“Shut up,” Nari said. “It’s Mr. O’Brien.”
Hannah was surprised at that. Those two had been thick as thieves at the beginning, whispering together, Nari following Dixie’s every lead. But since Garreth’s death, there’d been a rift. And Nari sure didn’t seem in any hurry to heal it. Who knows how Dixie felt about it.
At some point, they had to talk about Garreth, as a group. Have another memorial service. Get everything out in the open, including making her apology to Dixie—to everyone—public. But with Bob’s heart now being an issue, Hannah was going to have to put it off for longer.
Get the hut built. Start hunting for more food. Figure out how to process the cashew nuts. Get those things accomplished, and maybe in a week or so, there’d be time to take a breather.
Not that a group therapy session about Garreth’s death—and about Hannah’s loss of control—was going to be “a breather.” It’d be harder for her than hauling bricks. But she knew it had to be done.
Chapter 16
That night, after they had washed the clay pots and banked the kiln fire for the night, she let people decide where they wanted to sleep—in their debris huts, or behind the short wall of the new cabin. She and Laina and Ted and Rex chose the debris huts. To everyone else joining Bob in the cabin, she said, “You might want to set a watch. That wall’s not going to stop a predator from just hopping over.”
