The Last Tribe

by Brad Manuel

  They stood in the vestibule of the last house as Rebecca told John the story. His eyes filled with tears.

  “Anyway, it’s a nice story, and I thought you would like it. Your wife helped save our lives. A lot of people did. My parents, you, your wife, all the influences we’ve ever had helped two young kids live through a Hanover winter alone and without power. Your wife, she put the roof over our heads.”

  John was moved. “Thank you, you’re right, it is a nice story, and one I doubt I would have heard otherwise.”

  She leaned forward and hugged him, partly because she could tell he needed a hug, and partly to thank him for being Greg’s father. He hugged her back, tightly. John said through tears and with all the sincerity in the world, “thank you, Rebecca, for keeping my son alive. Thank you for keeping him alive for me.”

  “We saved each other, we really did.” Rebecca confessed. “How was a 13 year old girl going to survive a winter by herself? I had as much of a chance as a 14 year old boy. Together, we thrived, alone, we probably barely survive. Greg saved me as much as I saved him.” She released her hug. “Whatever or whoever is up there looking out for me, they sent Greg to my house last fall. The odds of him picking that exit? But he did, and we made it.”

  “Yes you did.” John told her, “yes you did.” He wiped his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his coat until he saw a tissue dangling from Rebecca’s hand. She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. He looked at her with confusion, and accepted the tissue “where did you? Um, thank you.”

  “I like to be prepared.” Rebecca smiled.

  John blew his nose and wiped his tears. “I guess you do.” He gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulders and kissed her head. “Let’s finish finding a room for our new clan, and figure out where we go from here.”

  They went into the last house and where Rebecca said there was a den on the first floor with a fireplace. Even she was surprised when it had a couch with a pull out queen bed. To give themselves options, they confirmed the final bedroom with a fireplace upstairs. The last house on the block was also vacant, providing an extra bedroom and den.

  “Let’s cross off the two houses with bodies, and stick to the four houses that are empty. People can double up in a house as long as they have their own rooms.” They stood on Choate Road in front of John’s childhood home. “We’ll park the RV’s out here so people can use the water and bathrooms. I think Choate road is going to work.”

  “It will take a lot of firewood to keep these houses warm at night.” Rebecca thought about their current supply. “We’re fine for tonight, but as the stay extends, we are going to have to gather firewood from all the houses around town. There is plenty of fuel, we just have to find it and get it to these houses.”

  “Hard work is not a problem. People will gather the wood tomorrow.” He looked at her. “That’s what our life is now, hunting and fishing for food, gathering fuel to cook and keep warm.”

  “At least we know where we can find all of it, that’s more than half the battle.” They turned and walked to the Cottage. Greg stood at the top of the street and waved to them.

  “How’d we do? Are we all going to be crammed into the cottage?” He shouted curiously.

  “Only if wood becomes scarce, otherwise, we should be good on rooms.” John yelled back to his son.

  “Either of you want to walk to the golf course with me?” Greg thought he still had traps to check.

  “Paul and Matt are taking care of it. You are off duty.” John lowered his voice as they drew close enough to Greg to speak normally.

  “I had Uncle Hank drop me off at the bottom of the hill so I could check for animals. As long as I’m here, let’s walk to the pond and throw lines in the water. I have the bait in my pocket. Come on, Dad, let’s show Uncle Hank and Craig how it’s done.”

  “I’m game.” Rebecca told him. “Come on John, when was the last time you got to fish with your son?”

  “It’s been what, 10 months since we’ve gone, Greg?” They turned around and walked down Choate Road toward Occom Pond. They followed the path Greg blew clean of snow and ice. As the pond came in view, they saw two figures already standing next to ice holes.

  They made their way to the water and said hello to Matt and Paul. Uncle and nephew had two rabbits and three squirrels from the traps, along with five white perch and bass from the pond. Today was a good day for food.

  “We cleaned the animals next to the fishing hole and used the guts to chum the water and for bait.” Matt explained to his father. “It’s a great system, and one I find hard to believe my brother developed.”

  Greg punched him on the shoulder. “Necessity is the mother of invention.” Greg told him.

  “What are we going to do with all the excess fish?” Matt asked. “Do you have a smoker?”

  “We do, but we can pack it in snow, put the animals and the fish we don’t need in ice in the fridge on the back porch. The low temperatures, the fact that we keep it out of the sun, means we can store meats in there for two days if needed.“ Paul explained. “Smoking the meat limits our cooking options. Unless we need it to travel, we hunt, ice, eat.”

  They stayed at the ice holes talking and fishing for another half hour, pulling a dozen fish from the pond. They decided they had enough for lunches and dinners for the next two days. They packed the meat and fish in snow, and headed back to the cottage.

  It was warm out, hitting the upper 40’s before lunch. Streams of melting snow passed by them and under their feet as they walked up the incline of Choate Road. “We may not have snow to use for packing in a few weeks.” Matt said to his uncle. “Smoking or curing will be the way within a month.”

  “Or we eat what we kill immediately.” Paul replied.

  They fed the dwindling fire in the woodstove and prepared for lunch. The Webster Cottage was filled with happiness and enthusiasm about the future, a welcome change for the last people alive in the northeast.

  “If we decide to stay here, or stay for a year, we need to stop fishing in Occom.” Greg announced. “We’ve been pulling fish out of there since fall, and I bet the population is shrinking. Our population is about to grow 4X, and that means we would need four times the fish. There is no way such a little pond can sustain our group with continuous fishing.” He spoke expressively with his hand, something he did when he addressed a group. “It’s our closest option in the winter, and one I believe should be a last resort. In the summer we’ll have to use cars or bikes to get to other places, other lakes. We could even figure out how to properly fish the Connecticut. I bet there are some whoppers in that river.”

  “We have to leave. It’s too cold up here.” John told him. “It’s just too cold, and we can move to Virginia, gain twenty degrees in average temp, gain a month on either end of the growing cycle, be on the ocean. It makes a lot more sense. Sure, we’ll still have winter, but our food and farming options grow exponentially.”

  “I know, but if everyone gets here and the decision changes, if we decide to stay for a year, grow strong as a group, then make a move, well, I’m saying we need to conserve that one resource and not fish it all summer.”

  The front door was thrown open. Hank stood in the doorway.

  “There is a moose on the green.” He panted. “I ran here as soon as I saw it. Craig is behind me with the fish.” He caught his breath for a second. “Seriously, there is a big moose walking across the green right now. What do we want to do?”

  “That’s enough meat to feed the group for a week, longer if we can store it.” Paul was already pulling on his boots. “Get the rifles.”

  “You really want to kill a moose?” Rebecca asked. “They are so beautiful.”

  “Rebecca,” Greg looked at her. “I’ve been killing five or more rabbits and squirrels every day. You haven’t complained once. What’s the difference?”

  “Size, I guess.” She thought about it. “I had a stuffed animal moose when I was younger, and I’ve always loved moose. I
don’t care about rabbits and squirrels.”

  “I like moose too, and if we can get this one, he’s going to sacrifice his life for all of us.” Hank came back from upstairs carrying two rifles. “Can you imagine the look on Todd’s face when he pulls up and we’re grilling giant steaks? ‘Oh, hey Todd. What’s up? You don’t have steaks where you are?’ This would be huge!” The men ran out the front door.

  “You had rifles this whole time? Why weren’t you hunting?” John asked his son. “Why are you trapping when you can just shoot things?”

  “This is going to sound like I’m a hippie, particularly after the Occom Pond comments, but hunting isn’t sustainable.” Greg made his way to one of the front windows. He watched his uncles run down Main Street. “I have a finite number of bullets. Learning to shoot a rifle isn’t going to help me in three or four years. Learning how to trap, that’s sustainable. I can do that forever. We have the guns for times like this, but honestly, we’ve never had a time like this. I’ve seen like four or five moose all year, and always from a distance, across the river.”

  “We had no way to get a moose back to camp if we shot it in the woods.” Rebecca chimed in. “Plus, as I have established, I’m opposed to hunting moose.”

  The door opened. Craig was holding a rope which pulled a purple plastic sled with a large cooler set inside of it. Craig was sweaty and out of breath. “I had to pull,” he panted, “this thing,” pant, “all the way from the top of Wheelock. There are,” He doubled over and put his hands on his knees.

  A loud shot was followed by a second report. Everyone ran to their boots and pushed Craig aside. He stood in the doorway trying to catch his breath.

  “Hey, there are 13 good sized trout in here!” He yelled as the four people hurried out the door and down Main Street. Craig sat down on the front step, watching his family jog towards the gunshots. “Fine.” he muttered to himself. When a third shot was fired, Craig stood and jogged after them.

  Craig rounded the corner of the library and saw a circle of people standing around a large animal. Hank and Paul had their arms around each other’s shoulders sporting grins. Craig made his way to the circle and asked the obvious question. “What do we do now? How are we going to get this thing back to the cottage? It’s bigger than a car.”

  His question wiped the smiles from his Uncle’s faces.

  “Let’s get the snowmobiles, try to pull this thing somewhere so we can string it up and clean it. We have to move quickly, I don’t want the meat to spoil.” Hank spoke to Paul and Greg. They were his hunting partners for the last several months. “We need a lot of plastic tubs filled with snow or ice. We should pack the excess meat and freeze it immediately.”

  “Rebecca,” Hank pointed to his other teammate. “Can you find a book about butchering a moose? Maybe we can use it as a guide, get all the meat we can off of him.”

  “John, Matt, and Craig, you take care of the fish, make lunch, and help us when you’re done. I think this is going to be an all afternoon exercise, but worth the effort when we get the meat stripped.” He slapped Paul on the back. “Oh, man, look what we got brother. Look what we got.”

  “Obviously this comes at a great time. The group arrives later today. We did not need this much meat for the four of us. I swear, someone is watching out for us.” Paul looked up as he said the last line. He checked the wristwatch he still wore. “It’s 12:15. Let’s try to have this done and some steaks cooking by 5pm.”

  “You know what it is? It’s Todd, that lucky son of a bitch. He’s supposed to be here today. His luck brought a moose. He’s going to eat steak, and through no work of his own. I swear, it’s like our grandmother used to say, you can throw him down a well and he’ll come up with an arm full of roses.” John feigned bitterness as he reminded his brothers of the old family joke.

  “Todd’s luck, divine intervention, it’s all the same right now. Let’s get the moose moved and cleaned.” Hank clapped his hands, and the group went into motion. Rebecca leaned down next to the moose’s head and whispered in its ear. After a pause, she stood and caught up to Greg.

  “What did you say to it?” Greg asked her.

  “I said I was sorry, and thanked him for his sacrifice. I know I’ve never done that for your rabbits and squirrels, but, you know, I like moose.” She broke away towards the library to find a book about slaughtering large game.

  She found a field guide relatively quickly in the stacks of the Dartmouth College Library. She referred to a section on hunting in New England several times over the months to help Greg learn more about trapping, and was familiar with the topic’s location. She grabbed a “Big Game in New England” book and headed out to the moose, book open, reading as she went. She bumped into Paul and Hank as she exited the library.

  “Okay, you need a big sharp hunting knife, or butcher’s knife, or maybe a cleaver.” Paul and Hank held up knives. “And a bone saw, some trash bags, and a bunch of rope.” They stopped in their tracks.

  “I bet we can use a hacksaw, I’ll run back. I’ll grab a pack of the blades with the biggest teeth we have and pick up the other supplies.” Paul turned around and ran home.

  “Don’t run with the knife!” Rebecca yelled after him.

  “It seems pretty straight-forward.” She continued with Hank as they walked in lock-step towards the moose. “We should clean it here. We won’t worry about a mess, it’s far enough away from camp. Anyway, we are going to clean and quarter it.” She held up the book and showed Hank the picture. The finished product was two back legs separated, and two front legs separated.

  Rebecca was a speed reader. She skimmed the “field techniques” synopsis while they waited for Paul to return with a saw. “We need to find a place to age the meat, preferably a freezer that is around 40 degrees. That’s why we are quartering the animal, so we can more easily transport and hang the meat for aging. We need to age it for a week for the best results, but at least 3-4 days to let the meat get tender. Regardless of aging, we have to get it cleaned and out of the open field asap.”

  Paul came around the corner of the library in a slow trot accompanied by Matt. They arrived at the body quickly, holding up two saws, one big knife, and a giant cleaver. “What’s the plan?” He said, panting. “Can we do this?”

  “Yes, check out the picture.” Hank pointed to Rebecca’s book. “It might take an hour, but we can get this done. I’m going to tie the rope to the front leg. Matt, you run it around that tree.” Hank pointed to a tree about twenty yards away. “We’ll follow the directions.”

  Rebecca continued to read the procedures, but as Hank had said, the pictures were straightforward. She supervised, and 45 minutes later, the men were bloody and finished cleaning and quartering.

  Greg walked up with rabbit sandwiches for lunch. The workers ate ravenously despite the ghastly job they just completed.

  “Moose steaks for dinner? You did an incredible job.” Greg handed out compliments.

  “Not really.” Rebecca told him. “We have to transport the legs to the basement of the old house and hang them from the rafters. We get moose steaks in a week.” She looked at the men, covered in blood, sitting in the snow eating sandwiches. “You know we still have to skin the quarters, right? We can do that after we hang them up.”

  “We didn’t know that, but we do now. Let’s get it to the house and strung up. I bet each of these legs weighs a couple of hundred pounds.” Matt responded for the butchers.

  “Is there anything we can eat tonight or tomorrow?” Greg asked, hoping they could start eating the meat soon. Even with the large group of twenty five people, it was going to take them a long time to utilize this much animal.

  “We can make moose burgers whenever we want. The reason we are aging the meat is to make it tender. If we run it through the hand grinder a few times, it will be fine to eat.” Rebecca pointed to a heading What To Eat First.

  “We have fish for tonight.” Hank reminded them. “Let’s get this over to the house. We’ll
chop off pieces as we need, and grill steaks starting next week.” He finished his sandwich and stood. He looked down at his clothes. His shirt and pants were covered in blood “Wow, so much for this outfit. Paul, let’s walk back and get our snowmobiles and the sled trailers. I bet we can get two legs on each one.” He trudged towards the cottage. Paul stood up and followed behind. Both moved slowly, trying to keep their cold, wet, blood soaked clothes from bouncing against their skin.

  Greg walked back with his Uncles, telling them about the progress he, Craig, and his father were making with the beds and sleeping arrangements. They had starter logs and pre-made fires along with stacks of wood in each bedroom.

  Matt was done with his sandwich. He remained seated in the snow. He turned to Rebecca, “Can I skin it here? I peel it back with my fingers and cut it with a knife, right?”

  “That’s what the book says. It’s easier to do when it’s hung up, but yes, you can skin it now”

  Matt picked up his knife began to skin one of the legs. It was easy work, and he had the first leg skinned in less than five minutes. He was working on the second leg when the hum of snowmobiles was heard in the distance.

  Hank and Paul came around the corner towing large wooden sleds. “Wow, you’ve already skinned one of the legs? You do nice work.” Paul said to Matt.

  “I decided we should finish all of the dirty work here.” Matt pulled the hide off the second leg.

  “Hank, I’ll start skinning the other ones, you and Matt can work on getting these monsters onto the sleds when he’s done skinning that leg.” Paul got off the snowmobile, picked up a knife, and followed Matt’s lead.

  Hank dismounted and picked up the sharp cleaver. He kneeled in the snow and worked on skinning the last leg.