by Jack L Knapp
If I had caught anything, I didn’t want to be robbed this time. I got a smile from the two women as I headed out.
#
My clothing was frayed and my boots showed wear; they wouldn’t last forever. I would have to make replacements, maybe something like what those raiders had worn. Lee’s moccasins would work too, even if the size and pattern needed to be changed. Maybe the women could help.
My snares had been set in a rough spiral, beginning only a few yards from the cabin, then extending outward. I found nothing in the first two but something had knocked down the third loop. I reset it and kept going.
Even with the numbers of animals available, trapping has an element of luck. You only catch the animal that’s passing where your snare is.
I’d caught nothing until I got to the stream, but there was noise coming from where I’d set the rope snare.
I slipped closer and sure enough, the snare had worked. Not quite what I’d had in mind, because the animal wasn’t dead. Far from it; the snare had caught it by the left front leg and it was struggling to escape.
It was not a particularly appealing critter. The head was ungainly, the lips dripped with slobber, and the legs were long and knobby. It was light brown in color, shaggy over the shoulders and forelegs. The extra hair was a darker brown. It also had a humped appearance.
Some sort of wild camel? Camels of my timeline had one or two pronounced humps. This one was more like the llamas of South America but larger and with more hump.
I held my spear two-handed as I approached. The camel laid its ears back and bared its teeth, edging away, but it came up against a large bush that held it in place until I got close enough to spear it. The sharp tip punched into the rib cage, the camel tried desperately to escape but I kept my left hand on the jerking spear and drew my war-club.
It took me two swings to kill it. The first strike stunned the animal and the next one, delivered two-handed after dropping my grip on the spear, crushed the skull. The camel fell down, kicked, leaked urine, and died. The mouth sagged open, so I gave it another whack for insurance.
The head had been ugly, and I hadn't improved its looks.
I was breathing hard, but I had a large supply of meat and skin if I could get it back to the cabin without a scavenger getting to it first. I could also boil down the hair and hooves to make glue, and the tendons could be used for making bowstrings.
I sliced open the body and removed the organs, then used a green stick to prop the cavity open. Leaving the carcass to cool, I headed off to fetch the women.
Chapter 10
We secured the cabin door with the latch-string, a heavy downtime cord, wooden handled, that went through a hole and connected to a pivoting lever inside. The lever was mounted on the door and would engage one of the wall hooks when it dropped. Pulling on the handle lifted the lever’s bar, allowing the door to be pushed open.
I had exchanged the club for my axe, a useful tool for butchering. I had to chop through the breastbone and pelvis before I could open the carcass fully, and a knife is not the best tool for those essential cuts. I wanted to keep the skin in one piece and keep the animal's tendons intact. The sinew fibers within the tendons are very strong, useful for making bowstrings. When we arrived at the camel’s carcass, I left the women to skin it and cut it into portions we could carry.
Millie decided to save the organs too. Camels, being ruminants, have a stomach and a paunch, useful for waterproof bags. The intestines could also be used for sausage casings; the resulting product could be smoked for storage.
The meat would be heavy and awkward, even after being cut up for transporting. Getting a heavy green hide up the side of the gully was also going to be a chore. We would just have to manage.
I cautioned them to watch out for scavengers--the crossbow was cocked, loaded, and propped against a nearby bush ready for immediate use--and went off to make a travois.
Two saplings, straight, bare of limbs and about ten feet long made the side beams. Two branches, tied across the main poles, finished the frame and held it with the ends splayed apart. The long poles supported the weight, the crosspieces added stability as well as a place to tie the load. Because the load was well back, only about eighteen inches from the end, leverage kept most of the weight on the poles and dragging them over the short grasses kept friction to a minimum.
I needed one more thing to make the travois complete; I would get that from the camel’s skin.
I left the travois propped against a tree; this would allow me to take up the load without having to pick it up from the ground. This made it less-likely that I’d reinjure my back.
I removed a few stones from the side of the gully and cut away dirt, making climbing up the path easier. The path was longer but required less effort, less energy expended carrying the load.
The women had the hide off when I got back to the kill site. I washed my axe-head, then quartered the animal. We left the head behind but kept the neck; there’s a lot of meat on an animal’s neck.
I chopped off the hooves and put them aside; I already had enough to carry this trip. The heavier loads devolved on me anyway, while the women carried lighter packs of meat and the organs. The rest could wait.
Hooves and hair, boiled down, make hide glue. It has excellent adhesion and is easily reheated, but it’s not waterproof. It’s also smelly while being prepared, but I could live with that.
Cutting a two-inch strip of belly skin from the hide and punching small holes in each end took only a short time. I measured the length I needed, allowing for stretching of the green hide, then laced the strap to my pack. This left me a loop for the top of my head, just behind my forehead. This tump-strap would help by taking some of the weight off my shoulders.
For transporting the skin, we stretched it out square and rolled it up, hair side out, into a long irregular bundle. I secured this by tying the roll at one end and taking half-hitches the rest of the way along. The flexible package went across my shoulders and neck, a heavy, awkward load. But I could carry it; my spear would help me balance as I climbed.
We tied the unrolled skin between the poles and the crosspieces, hair side down. Excess length got folded over the quarters of meat after they were secured in place. The tump-strap would help support the travois later, after I transferred it from my pack. I tied the ends to the two side poles, leaving just enough length to pass across the top of my head. Sandra put the strap into place and I allowed some of the weight to transfer from my arms to the strap.
The women shouldered their packs and Sandra picked up the crossbow. I would need the protection; both hands were occupied in dragging the travois. My spear lay across the poles, but I wouldn’t have time to grab it.
Getting everything to the cabin took more than an hour.
The women immediately began butchering the meat, putting three large sections of back-strap aside for cooking.
Only a few words were necessary. We’d worked silently at the stream, now the habit continued back at the cabin.
It’s really strange how that works. Noise brings danger here, and anyway most conversation downtime deals with things that aren't very important.
I broke the silence long enough to mention, “We’ll need salt.” The women nodded and kept on with their tasks.
I put empty gourds into my backpack, shouldered it, and headed for salt lick. I left my axe behind for the women’s use and took the club in it's place. The bar thumped behind me as one of the women secured the door.
I made the two-mile trip to the salt lick and back without incident. It was work and it took time, but I soon had a pack heavy with salt. I got back to the cabin shortly before dark, offloaded the containers, and made a quick trip to collapse my snares.
One held a rabbit, so I sighed and took him along after field-dressing the carcass. We didn’t need the meat now, but there was no reason to waste it. The rabbit was dead and I could use the skin. The tump-strap was uncomfortable and a lining of rabbit-fur would im
prove it.
I followed my trap-line, spiraling in from the distant snares toward the ones closer to the cabin.
A boy, a teenager I thought, stepped out a few yards in front of me. He held a bow, arrow nocked to the string but not drawn.
“Matt?”
“I’m Matt. Who are you?”
“I am Lee. I have been waiting for you.”
“You have?” Dumb question, and I knew it as soon as I spoke, but his appearance had surprised me.
“My mother and I have come here. She is at the dwelling place. We can talk there.” His speech sounded stilted but was easy to understand.
“All right. Can you walk guard? I’ll move faster if I don’t have to watch for danger.”
“Yes.”
Boy, or man, of few words. I led off, he followed a few steps behind.
I had time to form a quick impression as we finished collapsing the snares; leather breechclout, open leather vest, moccasins or turn-shoes, I couldn’t tell. Everything appeared well made.
He had deeply tanned skin, not ethnically white but not black either. Something in between, maybe some sort of Mediterranean mix. Black hair hacked off short and no beard, at least not yet. I couldn’t get a good look at the bow, but the arrow had a chipped stone point and flight-control feathers.
He moved easily, quietly, not truly upright but not quite crouched. He’d be hard to surprise, and if danger threatened he could move in any direction.
The breechclout had a belt and a scabbarded knife that hung over his right hip. The bow was in his left hand, nocked arrow held in his right. A leather arm-guard protected his forearm and a slung quiver held arrows, feathered ends up.
I took off my pack when we got to the cabin, stretched upright to get the kinks out, then tapped on the door.
“Who?”
“Matt and Lee.”
I heard the locking-bar scrape, then the door opened. A woman, perhaps a bit older than the rest of us, looked at me.
She looked me over, head to foot; I wondered if I passed inspection. I picked up the pack, carried it inside, and propped my spear next to the door while she continued looking. Lee came in, and I heard the bar thump, locking the door behind me.
“You have salt?” the woman said. So much for civilized introductions.
“I’m Matt, and yes, I brought salt. It’s in my pack. Who are you?”
“I am Lilia,” she said. Her voice had a lilt to it; English, but probably not my kind of English. “We have seen smoke. It has been two days. We crossed a stream and there were two straight tracks in the dirt. We have followed them. We found this dwelling and I have talked to Sandra and Millie.”
I glanced at the two women and got nods in return. “Matt, she’s been a huge help. Lee worked a lot too. We wouldn’t have managed to get nearly this much done without their help.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done a lot more than I expected. So are Lilia and Lee going to be staying with you? With us, I mean?” I felt a bit anxious; perhaps I would suddenly find myself unwanted.
“They’ll stay, at least for now. We were talking about that. Her husband was killed over west of here and she’s been alone ever since. They had a shelter, but it was burned and they lost everything.”
Well, not everything. Lilia had the knife she’d been using to cut meat into thin strips.
I was tired and it was nearing dark outside, but I didn’t see how four adults and a near-adult were going to fit comfortably in the cabin. So I asked.
“Lilia will stay inside with us, you and Lee will need to sleep outside tonight. Will you be OK?”
I nodded. I’d slept out for months, and clearly Lee and his mother had been doing so since their home burned.
“I’ll need something to eat first, but after that I’ll take a torch and we can build a fire near the edge of the woods.”
I got my steak, quite tasty and tender, and a piece of bread that tasted better than what Sandra and Millie had been baking. There were also boiled roots and a kind of fruit I wasn’t familiar with. Lilia was showing her worth.
Lee got a similar meal and we ate in silence. I took time to drink water from the gourd, then fastened smaller branches together. I lit them and we moved out, bar thunking into place behind us.
So much for my domestic arrangements.
We found a tree at the edge of the forest with branches that could be easily climbed. I tended the torch while Lee brought up branches, then we built a small fire near the tree. Lee added wood while I went off to gather more.
He wasn't there when I got back, but he soon returned. He’d been collecting material for beds; now he set them up a few feet apart. Our heads would be near the tree, there was a hollow for our hips, and springy branch tips formed the rest of the simple beds. His quiver and bow, still strung, lay near the head of his bed.
I stacked the remaining fuel close to the fire. It would keep us safe, and sleeping on the ground was more comfortable than up in a tree.
Lee sat down and looked out into the darkness, rather than at the fire. Careful, and knowledgeable; I would do the same when it was my turn on guard.
“I will watch,” he said, so I stretched out on the bed.
Lee woke me past midnight. I had slept long enough, now I stoked the fire, put more fuel where I could reach it easily, and sat looking into the darkness as Lee fell asleep behind me.
He woke up at first light. We each took time to find a handy bush, then gathered the bedding and tossed it on the fire. The leftover fuel wood could be retrieved later, but for now we watched while the fire burned down, then scraped up dirt to smother the final embers. When the fire was out, we picked up our gear and heading to the cabin.
I mentioned building a drying-frame for the meat but Lee quickly dismissed that idea. “My mother knows how. She will do this.”
Huh. I might not be necessary at all now. Lilia apparently knew more about living on this world than me, her kid Lee had better armament than I did except for my knife and axe, and he would soon be physically mature.
If he wasn’t already.
Sandra and Millie might decide they liked younger men. Lilia might not even like men, although apparently she’d been married or at least had a partner.
Maybe I had good reason to feel insecure. Millie and Sandra hadn’t picked me for looks or because I was the best man they knew. I was the only one, except for two others who’d attempted to rape Sandra. Anyway, they were now dead.
Matters would play out as they would. Worst case, I had been looking for people when I found the two of them, I had invested only a bit of time, and had at least learned more about how the Futurists thought.
For now, there was nothing to be gained by borrowing trouble. Relationships would adjust, and if it wasn’t something to my liking, I could always move on.
Getting booted out of the cabin last night had left me feeling nervous.
“Lee, after we eat, I plan on raiding a bee tree. We could use the honey.”
“A bee tree? Can you do this?”
“I think so. I plan to try, anyway. You can help if you want.”
“I will speak to my mother.” With that, we arrived at the cabin and knocked on the door.
We had steak and bread again. I looked at the fireplace and there were coals there and liver and heart chunks roasting on the metal rack.
I wasn’t sure about the heart or liver, but I wasn’t a picky eater after months on this survival-of-the-fittest world; I would eat whatever they prepared.
“I’m going to rob that bee tree this morning. I’d like to take Lee with me, if that’s all right.”
I got three nods in return. Lilia’s habit of not talking much reinforced the habit we’d already developed.
#
We left for the bee tree after breakfast.
I had my pack with a basket and gourds for holding the honeycomb. A fire near the tree, with a few green branches added, would generate smoke. Some of the smoldering wood, placed near the tree, would t
ranquilize the bees. I hoped.
My task was to chop into the tree after the bees stopped flying; Lee would keep lookout and tend the fire. If the swarm attacked me, I would run to the nearby stream and hope I could get underwater. It wasn’t a big stream, but maybe it was deep enough.
Detouring past the stream, I got enough mud to wipe a thin layer over my face and arms; cords already secured the openings in my clothing. Would this be enough?
I had a greenish-colored rock from in the stream, found while I was setting out snares. Attempting to crack it using the hammer side of my axe had produced sparks. I thought I could make a fire by using sparks from the stone.
Scraping material from inside a piece of dry bark, I struck sparks. Soon I had a wisp of smoke and I blew gently to encourage it. I got more smoke, then small flames.
We built the fire up carefully before feeding the green wood in. Smoke drifted around the tree, and soon the bees stopped flying. They were still there, crawling slowly around their knothole; hopefully they would ignore me.
I knelt down and peered up the crack at the bottom of the tree, but there was nothing to see. There was nothing for it but to remove one of the thin walls to expose the honeycomb.
Tapping gently on the tree resulted in a dull thump. I decided this was caused by the honeycomb; there was a lot of honey in that tree! So I took a full swing, pulled back my axe, and waited to see what the bees would do.
They crawled faster but were still not flying. Eyes smarting from the smoke, I marked out a rectangle beside the knothole and chopped it free. When it cracked, I carefully pried out the wood to reveal the honeycomb inside.
The axe went on my belt, the pack went in front of the opening; I cut out large sections of honeycomb with my knife. Stacking them in the basket, I collected smaller pieces and stuffed those in the gourds. As soon as I had all I could carry, I stuck the wooden rectangle back on the tree, using honey as glue. A few stunned bees had come out with the comb, so I carefully scraped them off.
I picked up my pack as Lee smothered the remnants of the fire. The bee colony should survive; I hadn’t taken all the honey, and I’d hadn’t seen the queen. Hopefully she was still alive. I might come back, take out my glued-in plug, and harvest more honeycomb.
