by Jack L Knapp
#
Matt woke up thirsty and sore. He crawled out of the pile of drifted grasses that he’d slept in and continued the few yards down to the river. The water level had gone down considerably. The bank remained muddy and he slipped near the water’s edge. He saved himself from a dunking only with difficulty.
Had he walked instead of crawling, he would almost certainly have fallen into the water. He drank, waited a moment, and drank again. The water was muddy, but he washed his face and immediately felt better.
Matt crawled slowly away from the water after drinking. He was shaky but able to stand by holding onto a tree. Waiting until he felt secure, he took a few experimental steps before examining his surroundings.
Both eyes were clear and fortunately, he was no longer seeing double. Reflexively, he rubbed at the barely swollen lump on his forehead. It was still sore, but that would pass.
He brushed off the sticky grasses that clung to his body. Shaking out his deerskins, he pulled them on. They were clammy and cold, but not as dripping-wet as they’d been when he took them off. The skins stretched and soon felt warmer as he moved around.
He needed food. Nearly equal in importance was the need for weapons. He hadn’t seen animals before winding up in the river…he still had no idea how that had happened…but there might be something else to eat. Plants had just barely begun to green up, so there would be no fruit or even leaves from sprouting plants just yet. There might be roots from cattails growing in the river, but he wouldn’t be able to get to those until the water level went down.
But there were always insects or larvae. There might be fish in the river too. He’d caught them before using hooks and weirs for fish-traps. He could do so again.
The sky was clear and the sun was well up. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but the sleep had helped him recover from the injury and near-drowning.
Bits of grass still stuck to his deerskins and some of the grass rubbed and prickled at his skin. For the moment, he could tolerate the itching. He had no urge to expose himself to the cold by removing his clothing again. Perhaps it would warm enough later for him to strip and vigorously brush away the grasses that he’d missed earlier. He could shake the deerskins and get rid of most of the grass stuck to them, then brush off the rest. Even dare a quick dunk in the river to get the mud and the last of the grass off?
That could wait. It was time to forage for something to eat. Matt wasn’t fussy. Grubs would serve for now and he could use the cord in his emergency pack for a fishing line. When he spotted the first signs of small animal activity, he could unwrap the rawhide from the handle of his small flint knife and put out snares.
He found a dead log, downed a year or more ago. There was evidence that insects had been burrowing under the bark, so he used a stick to lever a section of the bark free. Under the bark he found a number of white grubs. They might have been round-headed larvae of woodboring insects, the things that woodpeckers seek when they hammer at the bark of dead trees. Regardless, there were many of them. He pinched off the black head sections and ate the bodies.
Hunger was a problem, but eating too many insects that his gut couldn’t tolerate would be worse. He ate a half-dozen of the grubs and waited to see if they’d stay down. While waiting, he began fashioning a gorge hook, using the flint knife. He could eat more of the grubs later if they didn’t cause nausea, but one would serve as bait for a fishing line while he waited.
A short length of his precious cord was cut off to make a sinker-line. He tied this around a rock that lay beside the riverbank. The other end of the line he knotted to the longer fishing-line he made from the cord in his emergency kit.
One end of the longer line was tied around a circular groove he carved around the middle of the gorge hook. The other end of the line he tied to a small tree on the bank.
The two ends of the gorge hook were sharpened, designed to catch in the stomach and turn sideways after a fish swallowed the bait. The sharpened ends would then catch in the stomach’s walls and prevent the hook from coming out while he pulled the fish ashore.
He threaded a large grub onto the gorge hook, then tossed the rock sinker into the river. This pulled the fishing line taut and the bait sank beneath the surface.
While the grub enticed fish, it was time for Matt to see what weapons he could contrive.
There was a large rock on the riverbank that had washed down in some past flood. He soon found a solid stick, apparently a branch from a tree that had broken away from wind or perhaps the weight of ice. It would do.
His strings and rope had been made from plaited fibers he’d extracted from leaves and grass stems. Neither source was available this early in the season, but there were roots. Flexible roots would do until he could begin making more cord.
He found several thin ones where the soil of the riverbank had been washed away in the flood. Being as careful of his flint knife as possible, he cut the roots.
Matt used the flexible rootlets as crude cord to bind the rock to the tree branch. He felt better immediately; even if he should be forced to climb a tree to escape a predator, at least he had a real weapon now! If a cat should try to climb after him, it would get a face-full of rock!
He checked his fishing line but felt nothing tugging back. Perhaps the bait had wriggled free? He pulled in the line and the grub he’d used for bait was still there. Still, a fresh one might be better. He loosened a section of bark from the dead tree and selected another large grub. The newly-baited gorge hook went back into the river to wait for a fish to bite.
The club was good, but a spear would be better. Two methods of getting a spear occurred to Matt. He could bend a small tree over, then use the club to batter the trunk until it broke. That in turn could be trimmed into shape, sharpened, then hardened in a fire. He could also use fire or coals to cut the tree, as well as fashion a point and harden it.
He went back to the tree he’d been extracting the grubs from. Should he eat more of the grubs?
He decided to wait. The physical activity had lessened his hunger. No longer a sharp gnawing, it was still there, but now only a dull ache.
Using the stone-headed club, Matt crushed a section of bark that remained on the dead tree. He carefully peeled this free and beneath the bark was the powdered cambium layer. There was also a sawdust-like material left behind by the round-headed borers. The mix would catch fire readily. The powder from beneath the bark would serve as tinder while the splintered bark could be added as soon as he flames appeared.
Matt took the steel scrap from the pouch on his belt. Holding it in his right hand and the flint knife in his left, he began striking the heel of the flint with the steel. Glancing strokes released a few sparks and he waited for one to ignite the tinder.
A number of glancing strikes shed sparks into the tinder before Matt saw the first wisp of smoke. He carefully blew on the tiny coal and it grew brighter before finally becoming flame. Matt added the bits of bark he’d saved and waited for them to catch fire.
The small flame grew, and Matt gathered more fallen wood from the surrounding forest. He piled this near the fire, adding it to the small amount he’d gathered from the downed tree. Small branches were fed into the little fire and soon it had grown to respectable size.
Matt went to check his fishing line as the fire grew. A tentative pull on the line was answered by a strong tug back so Matt carefully pulled his catch ashore. A large, thrashing catfish lay gasping on the muddy bank.
A quick tap from the stone club ended the gasping. Quick cuts of the flint knife removed the spikes from the dorsal and pectoral fins. Matt knew by experience how painful a wound those fin spikes could inflict! He gutted the fish and removed the head. It was quite an easy task using the sharp flint knife. Those ancient ancestors had clearly known a thing or two.
A pointed stick held the fish over the coals of his fire. Matt moved some of the burning sticks to the base of a small tree that would make a suitable spear. He soon had more sticks arra
nged around the tree and watched as his small fire grew larger.
Watching the fire burn and the live tree char at the base, Matt removed his fish from the coals. The fish barely had time to cool before Matt began stripping flesh from the bones.
Gathering up the head and the bones, he threw these into the river. The guts he kept; they’d be good bait for his gorge hook. The rebaited hook, removed from the fish when he opened the body cavity, went back into the river.
Matt tended the small fire he’d built around the tree. He experimented by bending and attempting to twist the trunk free, but decided it was too soon. Adding more wood, he settled down to wait.
He soon felt sleepy; the full belly from the fish probably contributed much to that drowsiness. He fought off the feeling while waiting for the tree to burn through.
A large pile of fallen wood waited beside the fire. The spear was a defensive weapon primarily, at least the wooden-tipped one would be, but fire was an excellent defense too. Tonight Matt would sleep in relative warmth with a fire in front and another behind.
A last check of the fishing line brought in another catfish, somewhat larger than the first. He gutted this one and left it hanging from a branch near his fire.
The tree finally burned through and Matt laid it near the fire. Safe and warm between his fires, breakfast assured, and with a tree that he could make into a weapon tomorrow, Matt slept.
#
Robert woke up early and went about getting the camp up and working. Lee was also up and munched on a piece of bread and chunk of dried meat as he went to check on the camp’s guards.
Breaking down the sled loads into packs and arranging straps to carry them took longer than expected. Robert fretted. He had hoped to get a few miles farther before night, but he soon revised that estimate.
Shortly before noon the sleds were abandoned and the tribe straggled on their way. Well, they’d soon settle into the new form of travel.
Lee took charge of the group as soon as they moved away. He sent a scout ahead and had two others flanking the group, watching for danger and any animal that might add to their food supply.
Laz and Millie worked together, each pulling one branch of a heavily-laden travois. This contained their sleeping furs and a share of the tribe’s food. Sandra and Cindy followed behind, carrying backpacks with the rations they’d eat during the day.
Robert noticed this late in the afternoon and wondered where Lilia was, but he was too busy at the time to do more than wonder. Later, he found Lee when the tribe stopped for the night.
“I didn’t see your mother today. Is she all right?”
“I’m sure she is. She decided she didn’t believe what Pavel and his two friends said, so she took off to backtrack them. She thinks Pavel and his cronies ambushed Matt and killed him.
“She’ll find out and try to find Matt’s body. If his death wasn’t accidental…well, just keep out of my way. I’ll settle Pavel once and for all, and if his little gang gets in the way, I’ll do them too. That’s assuming my mother doesn’t beat me to it. She’s no pushover. I watched her stick swords into a short-faced bear after it clawed me and broke my arm.”
Lee thought for a moment before continuing.
“You don’t want her angry at you. I’ve acknowledged your authority as leader, Robert, but in this matter I’m not willing to defer to you. I’ll do whatever seems right at the time.”
“You won’t be alone, Lee. I’ll be there with you and probably Marc and Philippe will too. Laz won’t be hanging back, either. He liked Matt a lot. We all did. Pavel has few friends outside his gang of five.
“I don’t favor hanging. We’ll use the closest thing to a firing squad we’ve got. If we need to execute anyone, we’ll do it by arrows or spears.”
Lee nodded, not convinced, but willing to wait for now.
#
Robert wasn’t the only one who noticed Lilia’s absence. Vlad realized that two women, neither of whom was Lilia, now patrolled around the rear of the tribe. He remarked on this and Pavel took a walk past the camp Lee and the women had set up. No Lilia.
Pavel watched for some time, in case Lilia was off on one of her many errands. Finally, he decided she wasn’t coming back. If she wasn’t with her own small group, that meant she’d left the camp. Why would she leave, and where would she go?
He continued to muse on this and finally brought up the subject to the men of his group.
The women were away visiting other women in the camp. This made it easy for Pavel to tell the men what he’d found. The women might gossip; the men wouldn’t.
“Lilia’s gone,” Pavel said. “She must have left last night. I saw her yesterday, but she wasn’t around this morning and she’s not in her camp now. Anyone see her today?”
He waited, but no one said anything.
“She’s left the camp and I can’t think of any good reason why she would do that. There’s only one place she’d have gone. I think she’s gone back to look for Matt. She won’t find his body, that’s miles downstream by now. But she might find his bow and quiver. Maybe his spear too. I knew too many questions would be raised if we brought those back with us and we probably should have thrown them in the river. Having his parka and his weapons belt was dangerous enough, but they were just too nice to leave. I thought it was worth it, taking the chance. After we dumped the body, I just wanted to get away from there so I didn’t take time to pick up his gear and brush out the marks. I never expected anyone to go back and look for the site anyway!
“Robert and Lee don’t have any witnesses. No one saw what happened but Gregor and Vlad, and they won’t say anything. But there might still be signs where we dragged him to the river after I clubbed him. If she finds the bow and spear, she’ll know she found the right place. If she’s good at reading sign, she’ll know too much.
“We’ve got to go after her. We have to kill her before she can tell the others.”
Books by the author:
The Wizards Trilogy:
Combat Wizard
Wizard at Work
Talent
Veil of Time
The Darwin’s World Series:
Darwin’s World
The Trek
Home
Novella
Hands
Short Stories
Ants
About the Author:
Jack Knapp is a former soldier and science teacher, now a novelist and blogger. He’s a member of Mensa and the Society for Creative Anachronism.
He’s reinvented himself a number of times over the years and is currently an amateur scientist, gardener, musician, photographer, birdwatcher, and commentator on national and international affairs.
Jack retired (twice) before becoming a full-time caregiver for a disabled adult son. That kept him at home but didn’t occupy his time, so he turned to writing.
http:jlknapp505.com (nonfiction essays)
http:jacklknapp.com (topics in writing and publishing)
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
The Trek, an Excer
pt:
Books by the author:
About the Author:
