by Jack L Knapp
I stuck my knife in his gut, wrenching up as hard as I could to withdraw the blade, but it stuck. I also tried to free my axe from his shield--pulling it toward me had done what I intended, pulling him off-balance--but he’d managed to regain his balance. He pushed forward with the buckler and thrust at me with his sword.
He’d dropped the point when I stepped forward so the sword went into my thigh instead of my gut. I felt a push, but no pain; that would come later, if I survived.
I let go of the knife and used both hands to yank desperately at my axe. If I lost the axe too...
I pulled as hard as I could and hopped back, briefly dragging him with me. He stumbled again, but this time he dropped the sword and used his free hand to clutch at my knife hilt where it stuck out from his body. I freed my axe and skipped backward again, ready.
But the knife had done its work; the man was dying.
I held the axe ready but it wasn’t needed. He was holding his hand over his gut, tugging at the knife, but his fingers slipped off the blood-slick hilt. He stopped moving and I was finally able to step back and look around.
Lee had another arrow on his bowstring and was watching wide-eyed. He looked at my leg and I glanced down. Blood slicked the front of my trousers and it had run down into my boot.
My knife was still in the man’s gut, so I worked it back and forth to loosen it. It required much effort, but finally it came free. I wiped the knife on his vest and sheathed it, then loosened the belt that held up his breechclout.
I needed the belt and breechclout. The belt I wrapped tightly around my injured thigh, just above the wound. The blood flow slowed, so I wrapped the deerskin clout around the wound, a temporary bandage.
Two more of the enemy warriors stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking wide eyed at us. Even as I watched, I saw one turn and begin running back the way they’d come.
“Lee! Can you catch him?”
Lee nodded and took off, avoiding the other who still stood, frozen by shock, trying to decide whether to attack or run away. He saw Lee sprint past and that decided him. I was the only enemy left to his front, and I was clearly wounded.
He was armed in the same way as the man I’d killed, but not so skilled, judging by his movements. He rushed toward me.
I still had my axe. My spear had fallen at some point during the fight--I didn’t remember it happening, but the spear lay on the ground, dart missing-- but another dart was in my quiver. If I could insert it in the spear socket, I would have a longer reach. I wasn’t very mobile, the hole in my leg was throbbing, but the spear would give me an advantage in reach and that might be enough. It would have to be.
I hopped forward, switched the axe to my right hand, and picked up the spear. Holding the shaft under my right arm, I fumbled a dart out and managed to get it into the socket, but the man was almost on me by the time I finished. But finish I did, and he hesitated when he saw the spear in my left hand.
The axe was a threat, but first he had to try to keep the buckler between us to deflect the spear. It gave me more reach than the short sword gave him.
I waited. Lee was somewhere behind him, chasing his partner, but he would come back. This swordsman also couldn’t afford to wait.
He attacked. Perhaps he’d only hesitated to see if I bled out or weakened, but he ran out of patience and then he ran out of luck.
My left hand was weaving the spear around, holding his attention. A small feint forward using my uninjured leg and he reacted. The buckler brushed at my spear, deflecting it downward to protect his chest and gut, but his thigh was open. I lanced forward, a relatively light thrust, but the dart went into his thigh near the femoral artery. I pulled back and blood jetted; the dart remained in the wound.
Holding the shaft, end toward him, I backed away. The spear-shaft, even empty, was the equivalent of a peasant’s quarterstaff, usable if needed.
I limped forward and circled to his right, the side his sword was on. By circling I forced him to keep facing me, and while he was doing that the buckler was trapped on the disengaged side of his body.
Meantime, he was bleeding badly and the dart moved as his muscles flexed, doing more damage.
While he worked out his tactical problem, I poked the end of the spear sharply toward his face. I thrust twice rapidly; there was only a little force behind the thrusts but they made him protect his face, and when he did I chopped at his sword arm. The axe chunked in just below the elbow, coming free when I pulled at the handle. He dropped the sword, unable to hold his grip, and I stepped forward and rammed the spear end into his face. I drew it back and thrust again, much harder. Dead or unconscious, he dropped. I stepped in, reversed the axe and crushed his skull with the hammer face.
Lee had not returned.
I was concerned, but there was nothing I could do; I couldn’t run on my wounded leg. I busied myself by collecting the dropped spear darts and the short swords.
I drank from my water gourd, emptying it, and tried not to pass out. I ended up sitting against a tree at the edge of the clearing.
It took more than half an hour before Lee returned. He was panting from his long run.
“That one was fast! Fortunately, he did not have endurance, so I caught him when he slowed and arrowed him through the back of the skull. I cut my arrow free and came as soon as I could, but I saw something where I killed that man and I think you should see it too.”
I looked at him questioningly. “What did you see?”
“There is a thing, a building. It is very tall. I do not know what it is, but there are more enemies there. I saw others, too, not armed with weapons. Perhaps some are women. It is possible, but I could not go closer until I returned to see if you lived.”
I sighed. I would have to accompany him. It would not be fun, not on my bad leg. Well, I could fashion a crutch later from a forked branch.
We dragged the bodies away from the clearing. With luck, scavengers would take care of them. We cut branches and smoothed the disturbed earth as best we could, though a skilled tracker would know there’d been a fight. There was little we could do about the blood.
Lee led, I followed. We were vigilant, despite the noise I made limping along. Finally, we came out on a small rise and I saw the body of the fleeing man Lee had killed. A few yards farther ahead was an opening in the trees, and I saw the building Lee had found.
I studied it for a moment.
“Lee, I think that’s the head of a mine shaft. If I’m right, there’s a wheel and rope or chain lift in that building. The mechanism operates an elevator when it’s time to bring up ore. See that loose material over to the side? That’s waste from the mine, a tailings dump.”
“Matt, what is an elevator?”
I had forgotten that Lee was born on this world.
“It’s a device that can be lowered with ropes. There’s a shaft that goes down into the earth. The elevator is like a small room with a rope attached to the top. It’s much faster than climbing a ladder. Carrying the material up by hand is slow and it’s hard work. The mine operators would need a lot of men to do what the elevator does.”
Lee nodded. He was untutored but not slow.
“Lee, from what the Futurist told me, this should not exist here.”
Lee shrugged. “Matt, perhaps that man lied to you.”
“Maybe he did. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do here now. We need to start back for the cabin. It will take as long, possibly longer, than it took for us to get here. We won’t follow the same trail, and that may slow down pursuit if the other men you saw come after us. I won’t be moving very fast, and if there are predators around, they’ll find those bodies. They might follow us too.
“We should try going straight back to the cabin instead of following the dogleg course we followed before, offset slightly to the north.”
I sketched an angle in the dirt, a long leg that led from the cabin to the stream, then a short leg to where we had ambushed the swordsmen, and a connecting line that
led back to where we’d begun.
“This is how we’ll return. It’s shorter, so that may help make up for my slowness. I couldn’t fight more of those warriors, not now. We’ll have to avoid them.”
I looked at the sun, now southwest of us, and we started east, Lee leading, seeking a way that would be easier on my wounded leg. My leg was rapidly stiffening and I was feeling the weakness of blood loss. The wound was quite painful.
But there was nothing to do but go on, so I did.
Lee was our eyes and ears and he would be our first line of defense, perhaps our only defense.
“Lee, if they catch up to us, don’t try to stay with me. Run ahead, find the cabin and warn the women. You’ll likely have to abandon the cabin and look for cover in the woods. I won’t be able to fight, and if you stay you’ll only be killed with me. It’s more important to save the women.”
He nodded. It was only common sense.
Even if we didn’t see more enemies, I might have to hole up somewhere and wait until my wound was healthy enough to travel.
Infection, if it set in, would be a near-certain sentence of death.
We rested early in the afternoon after crossing the shallow river. There were no cats around, a good thing; I was feeling weak and feverish. I dropped off after chewing on a piece of jerky, my sleep troubled. Still, I managed to sleep through the night
We were left with no choice when I woke up the next morning. The leg was stiff, sore, and when I loosened the bandage my thigh was hugely swollen. The sword-point might have been dirty, or it might have pushed fabric from my trousers into the wound. It didn't matter; the leg was clearly infected.
Lee helped me move until I found a place near the river, then left, headed for the cabin. I would stay here where I could have access to water and where I could climb a tree if necessary. I would subsist on jerky as long as it lasted, then I would try to set traps as I’d done before.
Could I survive? Infection was an enemy I couldn't face. My body would fight this battle without my direction.
Lee would warn the women, and when I recovered I would make my way to the cabin. Teamwork had brought us this far, but now we'd had to split up.
Neither of us might make it home.
Chapter 14
The fever was worse.
The wound was a deep puncture, and it wasn’t draining. It had swelled more and turned dark, almost black.
My original garments were ragged and tattered; the sword puncture was a last straw. Astonishingly durable, the fabric had done its job. The shirt and trousers linked me to a different world, but it was time to let go.
I hacked off the trouser legs and the shirtsleeves, leaving me with a pair of shorts and a shirt that ended at the shoulder. My legs were bare, making the wound easier to care for.
My spear-shaft served as a makeshift crutch. I hobbled down to the stream and waded out to the center. Sitting in the water, I let the coolness relieve the pain and pressure. The relief was indescribable.
After washing the strips of cloth and the leather breechclout I’d used for a bandage, I prepared to do what was necessary.
I washed the wound gently. Gritting my teeth, I pressed into the swelling on each side of the puncture, trying to force any pus or foreign material out. Almost weeping from the pain, I pulled at the skin with my thumbs and opened the wound as much as possible to let the water wash around it.
I finally twisted the strip of leather around my thigh above the wound. The tourniquet would control bleeding and reduce the pain.
I drank as much water as I felt comfortable with, sitting there in the middle of that slow-moving river. I filled the water gourd too, both done upstream from where the water flowed over my leg.
I couldn’t wait any longer; the chance of losing my leg to infection or gangrene increased as long as the wound remained sealed. Could I amputate my leg, even to save my life? Others had, but there was something I could do short of that final choice.
I carefully washed my knife, trying not to think about what I was doing, then just got on with it. I stuck the knife in deep, just below the wound, and sliced up through the puncture. Fresh blood and more pus flow out. If there had been foreign material in the wound, it probably came out too. I couldn’t tell; the water carried everything away.
I washed the knife again, waiting while the water bathed the open wound. Agony threatened my consciousness, washed through my brain; my vision began to gray out, a fuzzy colorlessness that surrounded the clear center.
I couldn’t wait; passing out in the river meant I would likely drown. Dragging my leg behind me, I made for the riverbank and crawled part-way out. I sat on the bank with only the injured leg in the water and squeezed the wound again. More blood washed away downstream. At least now I would fall on the land if I passed out.
Finally, after the faintness passed, I dragged myself the rest of the way out and let the wound air-dry.
I tied a rope to my pack and got to my feet. Looping the rope over my shoulder, I let the pack drag as I limped and hopped my way, aided by the spear, to the tree I’d selected.
In that tree’s branches I would live or die.
My arms had become uncommonly strong from the work I’d done since arriving on Darwin's World. I was weak, but there was enough strength remaining to pull myself up into the tree.
That journey was the stuff of nightmares, constant struggle, slow progress, pain, seemingly no end to it all. I concentrated on the pain as I climbed, squeezing it into a ball then trying to push the ball away.
It might have helped, a little.
Laboriously climbing, one branch at a time, I finally neared the upper reaches. Animals like the saber-tooth we'd killed might climb, but they wouldn’t be able to climb this high. I frequently stopped during the climb, resting, pulling up the pack that contained my dried food and supplies.
My quiver I left at the base of the tree. I would recover it later, or I wouldn’t need it.
A tree crotch became my resting place. I pulled the pack up and secured it to a nearby branch with twine, then used the rope to tie my body loosely to the tree bole.
The climb left me soaked with sweat. I drank more water and ate a piece of jerky, careful to make sure that the pack was tied in place and the flap was closed.
At some point, after eating and drinking, I passed out.
During the night I woke up for a short time. I drank more water and pissed as far away from the tree as possible. I ate a little more of the jerky and propped my swollen leg atop the branch I was sitting on. The dull throbbing, interrupted by brief stabbing pains, ruled my thoughts. I soon passed out again.
It was afternoon when I woke up. I had a raging thirst and my water gourd was empty. Stiff, sore, but no longer feverish, I made the trip back down the tree. I had to drink or I would weaken more. I took the pack of supplies with me; I might not be able to climb back up.
My shorts were fouled; I had pissed myself during the night and shit myself too. The feces were mostly solid and stayed within the shorts while I climbed down.
Back in the shallow river, the water bathed my wound while I carefully removed my shorts. I washed out the feces as best I could, repeatedly rinsing the shorts then wringing out most of the water. It wasn't the best job ever but it would suffice. I limped back to shore, supporting myself with the spear, and spread the shorts out to dry.
I examined the leather breechclout that the original owner no longer needed.
The long strip of deerskin had two half-ovals cut on each side near the middle The narrow part, adjusted between the legs, would prevent bunching of the leather around my genitals.
I pulled the strip into position, adjusted it for comfort, and secured it in place with my belt. When I struggled to my feet, the belt kept the breechclout in place while allowing the two loose ends to swing free.
Modesty had gone long before; I had no issue now with most of my body being exposed. Things would only get worse as my remaining garments wore out.
I ate jerky, drank more water, then went back to the tree to recover my quiver.
I spared a thought for Lee; he might have survived, but it was also possible he hadn’t. One man, making the trip alone, would need a substantial amount of luck to succeed.
I would need luck, too; my food was running out. I would have to try to make it back to the cabin on my own.
#
Taking my bearings from the sun, I headed northeast.
Walking was painful and my limping pace was exhausting.
Lee and I had kept watch, traveled, then set up camp when we found a good spot. Alone, I made less distance and stopped earlier. I doubt I covered more than three, four miles at most before I was forced to stop.
Water was my priority; I stopped each afternoon as soon as I found a water source. I remained close enough to the water that I could fill my gourd before limping on the following morning.
Snares supplemented my remaining food. I caught a large rat and a rabbit; the fresh meat was welcome.
Two days after I caught the rat, I got a rattlesnake. He fell victim to my spear and I ate the flesh raw. That afternoon I ate the last of my jerky.
The leg was useful now instead of being a burden, something I dragged along. Not yet fully recovered, it would support my weight in an emergency.
I slung the spear by its sling and strung my bow. The process was painful and stressed the wounded leg, but soon I had an arrow ready on the string and felt better.
The bow would have to remain strung for the rest of the trip and would likely take a ‘set’ from being kept so long under tension. The induced curvature reduced the available power but I wasn’t strong enough to pull the bow all the way back anyway.
If the bow remained usable long enough for me to reach the cabin, that was all I could hope for. I had left two other unfinished blanks back at the cabin, and I could make them into bows just as I had this one. And I could always cut more blanks.
