by Nancy Lieder
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through backpacks, and Clara and Red step forward into blowing mist to help.
Martha will prepare what the group has gathered in the rain, if need be,
because there isn’t enough room under the overhang for all the activity. The
fire and dry sleeping quarters are more important, in her mind. The three lay
out what has been gathered and washed – water cress, grubs, mushrooms, thistle
flowers, and fish and snake fillets.
Red and Clara are arranging the cress, thistle flowers, and mushrooms on a
plate and passing it to the group huddled under the overhang. Red says,
Here’s your vitamins, eat hearty.
The platter is being passed down the line, each taking a pinch and stuffing it
into their mouths. Danny brightens.
This is not bad! Wish I had some ranch dressing. .. Ah
well.
Martha is at the fire, fish and snake meat in a pan with a little water. She
puts a lit over the pan and nestles it into the fire. Martha has a bowl
filled with the white grubs which are twisting from side to side. Martha takes
a large spoon and starts mashing the grubs, then frothing them with a fork.
She pulls the covered pan out of the fire and using her skirt as a hot pad
lifts the lid, showing cooked fish and snake inside with only a little water
left in the pan. Martha forks the meat onto the platter, which has now been
returned free of salad, and serves up the next course with a smile. She passes
the platter to Red, who can be seen turning to take it to the group huddled
under the overhang.
And here’s your protein – fish and, ahm . . chicken.
Martha pours the frothed grubs into the pan, and holds it over the fire,
stirring feverishly. When the mess looks like cooked egg whites, she quickly
turns and scoops it onto another platter, pulling a sprig of some herb she has
collected during the day from her pocket as a garnish.
And for desert we have pudding.
Billy’s face as he pulls a grub’s brown leg out from between his teeth, his
eyes widening at the sight.
_______________________________
Big Tom and Colonel Cage are out ahead of the others. They round a bend and
stop short. We can't see what they're seeing, but gauge it to be horrific
from the look on their faces. Big Tom glances quickly at Colonel Cage,
understanding passing between them without words, and turns on his heel
quickly to stop the others from rounding the bend. He jogs up to Danny and
Frank who are next in line.
Keep the others back, but send Netty forward.
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Danny nods in understanding while Frank stands stock still, pale and worried,
the continuous trauma and events beyond his ability to cope. He has given up,
essentially.
_______________________________
The scene before Colonel Cage is horrific, even for one with military
training. Some clothing is strewn about, a child's shoe. A man’s shoe and
pant leg, covered in blood. A woman thrown into the bushes, her head bloodied
as though bludgeoned. Danny, Big Tom, Colonel Cage, and Netty stand next to
the fire taking this scene in, their faces grim. Colonel Cage finally breaks
the silence.
I've heard this was going on. Cannibalism. We got some
reports, places where they had the radio up, and they
were under attack like this.
Big Tom is staring at him with an alarmed look on his face, the obvious
thought that they are walking into danger, danger that he hadn't been told
about, on this mind.
What the fuck did you bring us here for! What were you
thinking!
Colonel Cage glances at him briefly, then back at the scene.
We got other reports too, some groups were doing OK,
and I figured out their general location.
His face darkens as he realizes this might not be a local affair.
I hope to God my wife and kids are OK. The general
didn't let any personal calls go through.
Netty says,
We can't let them see this!
Her comment brings them all back to the immediate situation.
We'll tell them there's a washout.
_______________________________
Mark and Brian are floating through a low-lying cloud. The day is continuously
overcast, gray with blowing clouds almost at ground level, and drizzling
continuously. All is gray, and they both are being powdered with a fine
volcanic soot which has turned the pair and their clothing light gray and
streaked. Brian is hanging down below Mark, in a parachute seat, looking
around with wide frightened eyes.
Mark is holding the hot air jet gingerly in his arms, pointed up into a double
parachute arrangement above him. He rarely puffs the jet, as the wind catches
them and propels them with rapid bursts now and then. Mark is using the jet
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sparingly, only when the wind dies down between bursts and they begin to drift
toward the ground.
Below them are flooded farmlands and a town, a church steeple and silo
sticking up above the water, and occasional rooftops with people huddled in
the center. One waves frantically at the floating pair, hoping to be rescued.
Off to the side, in the distance, is a new cliff where the land has been
sheered upward by a couple hundred feet. Shreds of city housing are clinging
to the top of the new cliff, as well as crumpled along the bottom, with
wreckage clinging to the cliff itself.
_______________________________
The group traveling overland has arrived to find the highway bridge they hoped
to use to cross the river in shambles. The middle section of the reinforced
concrete bridge is completely displaced, sticking up from the river, 100 feet
away from where the bridge is, having moved. The day is overcast, as usual,
but as the group is standing on the river bank there is a slight breeze, which
all appreciate. There is no evidence of activity. No boats, no people on
shore, nothing but the expanse of water and the breeze ruffling the calm
surface and the soiled and tattered clothing hanging from the tired bodies of
the group as they arrive, one by one, to look.
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Clara raises her skirts and wades into the water up to her hips, a look of
relief on her face. Seeing this, Billy looks up into his mother's face and
begs.
Mom, can we go swimming?
Big Tom, looking over the torn bridge, is trying to come to grips with the
forces that would have rearranged this familiar landscape.
I wouldn't do that until we learn what might be under
the water, and there might be an undertow.
A fog horn blares softly. The group sees a large boat being rowed from the
opposite side toward them. The boat is a raft, cobbled together from various
boards, with half a dozen men rowing, three on each side. The fog horn has
been to signal their approach. Martha glances nervously at Colonel Cage,
whose face is calm as they would not be announcing themselves if the approach
was malicious. Big Tom's face relaxes, and he walks over to his wife, putting
an arm around her shoulder as they watch and wait.
As the boat approaches they see that the men are thin but energetic, many with
bare very tan arms sticking out from their tattered shirts. They look over
their shoulders as they row, for aim, as there appears to be no leader in the
group. As the boat approaches, Big Tom and Danny step into the water to help
guide it to shore. The men in the boat are obviously unarmed, and dismount the
boat by clinging to the sides and sticking a leg into the water. These are
not boatmen, but landsmen who have learned how to cross the river.
Ian, the first man to step out of the boat, approaches with a broad smile on
his face, his hand extended.
Welcome, we're the group that survived at Bridgewater,
and we've set up a camp on the bluff over there. Where
are you from?
_______________________________
The last boat is arriving at Bridgewater. Big Tom and Martha are with their
children, gathering their things, obviously having arrived on an earlier boat.
Several crossings having taken place. Colonel Cage and Danny are among the
last group to cross, having stayed behind to guard the rear while Big Tom went
across with his wife and children, whom everyone agreed should be first.
Colonel Cage is feeling a bit of relief, and feels he can talk to those on the
boat openly, now that the women and children are not present. With a backdrop
of steady sloshing as the oars dip and pull, he queries Ian.
How many groups like yours are you aware of?
Ian says,
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We're the only one, though for awhile there seemed to
be a group in the foothills, but their fires stopped
after a few weeks and we feel sure they're dead.
Colonel Cage gets right to the point, his jaw firm and face relaxed as he has
been trained to look danger straight in the face without flinching.
Have you had any run-ins with gangs, cannibalism?
Ian takes a moment to respond.
We've got a good position here, the river on one side
and the mountains on the other. Not many can get to
us unless we bring them over, like we did you. So I
guess we've not been the best target, thank God.
Colonel Cage and Ian are walking up the hill toward the camp from the river
bank. A group of women at the side of the trail are stirring something in a
pot over an open fire. Colonel Cage and Ian pass a woman pouring water into a
V shaped trough while another woman removes a drainage tray from under the
trough, replacing it with an empty tray. The trough is filled with gray ashes
with some chunks of blackened wood here and there, clearly ashes from a fire.
Phew . . Is that for supper?
Ian says,
They’re making soap. Fat and lye. Works well enough
but it’ll take the hair off your chest.
Ian has flashed a smile at Colonel Cage as they continue walking up the trail,
past a low table where a metal rack of soap forms is sitting inside a square
cake pan, a crisscross of metal sides where a dozen or more soap bars can
harden. The pot from the fire is brought over and a thick, beige colored,
steaming mixture is poured across the rack.
_______________________________
It is evening at the River Camp, where the women are having their first hot
tub bath in weeks. There is relaxed laughter from the steamy bathing hut. A
stocky town’s woman approaches from the hut with several clean towels over her
arm.
Inside the bathing hut Daisy is scrubbing her hair vigorously. She sinks back
into the tub to rinse her hair off, going under the water totally and emerging
with an ecstatic look on her face. She's home, once again, to where she can
expect the pampering she thinks is her due. Martha is toweling off Tammy, who
is chattering brightly about some friends she's met.
.. and they’re making a doll house too, but right now
they only have the mice to run through it. So maybe we
should call it the mouse house!
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Tammy giggles, putting her hand to her mouth and looking up at her mother. Her
mother is visibly relieved, a calm contented look on her face. Clara is
soaking in a tub, submersed up to her chin and not moving.
I think I'll be here forever.
Netty is not among them.
_______________________________
Outside along the river bluff Colonel Cage and Big Tom and Netty are watching
the Sun go down, with Ian. They stand quietly, watching the brilliant
display. Ian says,
Compliments of the volcanic dust.
Netty asks,
Dust?
Breaking out of his thoughtful mood, Ian explains.
Oh, I mean we wouldn't have such a sunset if it
weren't for the volcanic dust. That's what I've
heard. When the Philippines went up we'd have these
kind of sunsets for awhile, but these are more
brilliant than anything I've ever seen. Guess that's
why we have such gloomy days, too.
The group turns their faces back to the sunset and falls silent, all in
thought.
_______________________________
It’s dawn, and birds are starting to chirp and sing irrepressibly. The river
water is placid. Big Tom and Red, who have arisen, used to farm hours where
everyone gets up at dawn or earlier. Big Tom is reaching into the back of his
shirt collar, pulling out a piece of straw. Their clothes have not been washed
as yet, nor have the men had a bath, having giving the women folk the first
opportunity.
I hear there was an old timer living here. Had a
garden and all.
Red says,
I talked to the guy last night. Trying to make the
tractor run on wood chips. Dangest thing I ever heard
of, but he claims it’s done.
Then pondering the mechanical challenge, Red voices his decision in a soft
voice with a hint of determination. This old man doesn’t back away from a
challenge.
I’m going to give him a hand.
_______________________________
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Red and the old timer, who is scrawny and dressed in a very dirty cover-all,
are in the old barn of the original homestead at Bridgewater. The barn is
tilting badly to one side, but has fallen against some trees so did not topple
entirely. The old barn has lifted off its foundation, on the opposite side, so
the light of day is giving the barn workroom plenty of light. Red is
inspecting tools laid on the workbench and casting his eyes along the rack of
tools hung on the wall, taking an inventory.
A gas, you say? Never heard of it.
The old timer is now seated on a low stool at the front of a small tractor.
The tractor is almost antique, many decades old with the paint almost entirely
worm off or covered in grime, rusty in places. The tilling blades in the rig
drawn behind the tractor are held in the raised position, some dried grass
stuck to them here and there. The tractor engine cover is lifted up. Red grabs
a pail and turns it upside down to use as a stool, squatting next to the old
timer. Both their heads are almost pushed into the engine, side by side, along
with the old timer’s right hand, pointing, his elbow stuck out into the air at
a right angle. He says,
Put the fire bin here, and jus
t kinda heat the wood
slow, that’s the ticket. It’s a gas! We need a coil
here, and a cutoff . .
_______________________________
Big Tom is standing in the doorway of the tilted old barn, leaning against the
raised side of the door with his arms folded over his chest. He now looks as
though he’s had a bath, and is wearing some fresh clothes, borrowed from
others at the camp. The borrowed shirt is too tight, too small, and the pants
too short.
Need a hand?
Red looks up from his work, an almost ecstatic look on his face.
I believe we got it!
Red gestures back toward the work bench where a square metal container has had
a door cut into the top for loading wood chips. A hose is looping out from one
side to collect the wood gas, with a collection jar below the loop to collect
the distilled wood gas. Wood gas is dripping into the collection jar. There
are slits cut into the side of the firing chamber, toward the bottom, for air
intake. There is another drain on the other side where steam has condensed
into water and is dripping out.
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The old timer rises to dismantle the apparatus, eager to bring the firing
chamber over to Red. He pulls his hand back quickly, realizing it is still
hot.
Damn!
Billy appears in the doorway, alongside his father. He quickly brightens into
an ecstatic look that mirror’s Red attitude.
Cool!
_______________________________
The camp folks have their backs to some woods with a fallow field in front of
them. The faces reflect skepticism. A chugging motor is starting up very
haltingly. Finally, the motor is doing a steady chug-chug. The faces of the
camp folk reflect astonishment, some blinking, one a bit teary eye’d, some
