remembergoliad
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Posts: 158
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Post by remembergoliad on Nov 27, 2019 8:02:39 GMT -6
And so begins the REAL part of the story...the part that's going to take years to tell, right? Looks like Ford was right to hang onto his pigsticker. Now will they use it to remove those slave collars and work as five men? Eager to see where this goes, and if they slip in and get Ada and whoever 53 might not have told us about. I'll shut up now LOL, except for my thanks for telling this story, Mic!
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Post by texican on Nov 27, 2019 12:15:11 GMT -6
mic, The guys have crashed landed and slide down the bluff, but how many survived? Now, what hasn't been very well answered: Where do all of the new citizens come from? Thanks for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by kaijafon on Nov 27, 2019 14:08:25 GMT -6
I was thinking that since there are tenders about and they know what a baby is
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Post by mic on Nov 27, 2019 15:13:55 GMT -6
Now, what hasn't been very well answered: Where do all of the new citizens come from? Texican.... Don't want to get ahead of our story, but that question comes up later. Ford and his companions, indeed, most citizens, know that people start out small (babies) don't really know much more. The state 'provides' as needed. Kaijafon recalled some earlier hints. Yes. The two lowest classes of women are the Tenders (raise the babies) and the lowest class: Carriers -- little more than walking incubators. But, that is getting ahead of things. :-) -- Mic
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Post by mic on Nov 27, 2019 18:06:51 GMT -6
Chapter 5, part 2
The battered lifter lay nose up on a forty-five-degree slope. Out of the front windows, Ford could see a circle of blue sky at the end of the tunnel of destruction through the foliage. He half expected the lifter to resume sliding. It did not.
“Looks like we’ve stopped,” said Ford. “Is everyone okay?” He looked back at the others. Owen was staring at a large dent in the fuselage that came very close to his head. 22’s eyes were wide but staring straight ahead.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said 53. He clawed at his seatbelt to get it to release. “This thing could keep falling.”
Ford snapped his belt off too. He climbed down between the seats. “How do we get the door open?” He looked at 99 for an answer.
99's face contorted in a grimace.
“What do we say to make the door open?” Ford repeated. 99 did not reply.
"Um. 3884," Ford guessed. "Open cabin door." Nothing happened.
"3884. Open door." Still nothing.
“3884,” interjected 53. “Make door open NOW! Open cabin door. 3884 Cabin Door Open. Nothing is working. What do we say?”
"No…power…" said 99 between gasps. "Pull…pins…" He pointed with a shaking finger to two white covers in the ceiling.
Ford pried one off with his fingertips. 53 pried off the other. Beneath the covers sat red T-handles. Ford and 53 looked at each other for a moment; then each pulled down on their handle. Both Ford and 53 fell to the floor with a T-handle in their hands. The door remained closed.
“It’s stuck,” said 22.
“Push on it!” said Owen. “Everyone push on it.”
Eight hands pushed against the curved plastic door liner. The plastic flexed, but the door did not budge.
“Again. Harder!”
Two shoulders smacked against the panel. The door popped free, sending Ford and Owen tumbling out of the opening. Both slid downhill until they braced themselves against a sapling and a rock. 53 and 22 scrambled to get their feet and hands through the opening at the same time.
“Careful!” said Ford. “This hill is steep.”
The four men scrambled on all fours until they were several meters away from the wreck. They stared back as if expecting something more to happen. The battered aircraft sat motionlessly, its tail wedged between two thick tree trunks. Cables and wires dangled from the jagged wing roots. One of the fan rings rested against a tree.
“Is everyone okay?” asked Ford. “Anyone hurt?”
“Something scraped up my face,” said 22. He rubbed his hand over several parallel scratches on his forehead.
“I think I bit my lip,” said Owen, “and my shoulder hurts. Nothing seems broken, though.”
53 rubbed the top of his right arm and shoulder. “I got banged up against the wall.”
“What about 99?” asked Ford.
“What about him?”
“He’s still in there,” said Ford. He began to crawl back between the spindly bushes.
“Where are you going?”
“To find out about 99. He should have gotten out by now,” Ford said over his shoulder.
“You’re crazy,” said 53. “That thing might start falling again.”
Ford paused near the open door. The lifter did not seem precarious. If anything, it was immobilized between the two big trees.
“Sir? Are you okay? You need to get out of this thing,” said Ford.
“Can’t …get out,” said 99 as he grimaced in pain. “Hips…wedged in.”
Ford peered around the foreman in his seat. The body of the lifter had been caved in from impacting trees. It was as if metal and plastic had formed two rounded thumbs that held 99’s hips into his seat.
“We’ll have to pry you loose, or something.”
“Hey!” Ford shouted out the door. “99 is stuck in here. We have to pry him loose.”
The other three faces appeared in the doorway.
“The shell of the lifter is bent around him,” said Ford. “He can’t get out of his seat. Look for something we can pry with.”
“Like what?” asked 22.
“I don’t know,” snapped Ford. “A tree branch: a piece of broken lifter…I don’t know. Look for something.”
Owen and 22’s faces disappeared. 53 stayed but only stared.
“What about this?” Owen handed in a curved branch as thick around as Ford’s wrist.
Ford wedged the fat end of the branch between 99's seat and the curved inner wall. In his mind, he pictured the plastic thumb collapsing and releasing the foreman. The branch bent, but nothing else moved. 99 grunted from the pain.
“Someone help me pull.”
Owen and Ford pulled down on the branch.
“No. No. Stop!” gasped 99. “That’s worse. Think I’ve hurt my back too. Hurts to move.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll have to think of something else. We’ll be right outside. I don’t think the lifter is going anywhere. It’s pretty firmly wedged between two trees. We'll figure something else out." He motioned for the others to leave.
The four men stood a few meters away, each holding onto a sapling to steady themselves on the slope.
“So, what do we do?” asked 22.
“Maybe just leave him in there,” said 53. “He was fine with leaving 86 under the blocks.”
“That’s different,” said Ford. “86 was dead. 99 is alive.”
“Maybe we could try pulling out the dent on the outside,” offered Owen. “See if we can create enough clearance for him to move.”
They all climbed the hill, reaching from tree to tree, as they navigated around the nose of the fuselage. The left side of the lifter had suffered more than the right side had.
“I think this is the dent that’s got him pinned.” Ford pointed to deep indentation below the last window.
“Okay,” said 53, “but how do we pull on a hole?”
Ford scratched his head at the puzzle. A gap in the metal skin gave him an idea. “Maybe we need to peel back the sheet metal and see if we can dismantle the dent.”
“Peel it back with what?” quipped 53, “Your fingers?”
“No,” said Ford, “with this.” He pulled the knife from its sheath.
22 and 53 gasped and took a step back. "Where did you…why do you have that?" asked 22.
“He found it in one of the ruined apartments,” said Owen.
Ford knelt and inserted the point between the overlapping layers of sheet aluminum. He pried gently, wiggling the blade in until it was fully inserted. He twisted the handle until the rising spine of the blade popped a rivet."
“Hey. It’s working,” said 22.
“Find another branch,” said Ford. “We need more leverage to pry the skin back.”
After twenty minutes of prying at the sheet metal with two branches, the four men stood staring into the hole they had created.
“We’re not going to be able to pry that.” Owen pointed to the thick metal rib bent inward. “That must be what’s got him pinned.”
The four stood and scratched their heads as they studied the hole.
“Hey,” said 53. “Your knife worked on the metal skin of the lifter. Maybe you can cut off our collars.”
“Would that work?” asked 22.
“We can try,” said Ford. He pulled out his knife and held it up. “Who wants to go first?”
“Wait,” said Owen. “How are you going to do that? I don’t want you chopping at my neck.”
“No, no, no,” said 53. “Put the blade between our necks and the collars, cut outward.”
“I’ll take that to mean you’ll go first,” said Ford. He did not wait for an answer, but grabbed 53’s collar and carefully inserted the knife, edge outward. 53’s wide eyes stayed fixed on the tip. Ford pried and rocked the blade but the edge penetrated no more than a millimeter or two.
“Hey, not so hard. You’re choking me.”
Ford looked closely at his knife. “Aw, man. This nicked the edge. These collars aren’t just plastic. They’re plastic-coated metal.” He peeled back a flap of black plastic to reveal a shiny core.
53 slumped more than the others at the news. “We’re stuck in these.”
Ford made his way back around to the door. “Sir. We don’t think we can un-bend the metal parts that are holding you in. We’ll need more help.”
99 opened one eye and grunted.
“The lifter was reporting on its problem as it was going down, right?” asked Ford. “They know we’re down and they’re sending help?”
“Uplink was out,” said 99. “No flight data sent. They don’t know.”
"Oh." Ford's visor still said Services Unavailable. No signal levels were coming from the lifter. "But, they’ll wonder when we’re overdue and send someone out, right? What about a locator beacon, or something like that?”
"Maybe." 99 winced and took several short breaths. "If it's got power. Short-range, though. They would need to pass near us. We drifted…off course. Won't know where to look."
Ford glanced up through the front windows at the little circle of sky. “What if we went up on the hilltop and made a fire? That would help them know where to look.”
“Worth a try. The prod is in my right lower pocket.” 99 pointed with his eyes.
“Ow. Ugh. Go slow," gasped 99. "I've hurt something inside, alright. Feeling cold too."
Ford slowly pulled the prod from the cargo pocket. “We’ll get you out a blanket – if we can – before we go up top to make a fire. Hang in there. We’ll get help.”
“I’’ll keep an eye on the lifter,” said 99 with a half-second smile before the pain cut it short.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” said Ford to the other three men. “We need to get into the tail section and get out a blanket for 99. He’s cold.”
“Who cares if he’s cold,” 53 said with a snort.
“We’ll need blankets too, okay?” said Ford. “Then we’ll go up on top of the hill to…”
"How are you going to get into the storage area?" asked 53. "It's all beat up shut, and there's no power."
“Pry, I guess,” said Ford. “We made a hole in the side. We’ll make a hole in the back. Where are those branches you had? As I was saying, we need to go up on the hill and make a fire, so whoever comes looking for us will see us. We were off course."
“Make a fire?” asked 53 skeptically.
Ford held up the shock prod.
“He gave you that?” asked 53. “I suppose you think that makes you the boss of us now.”
“Boss?” Ford was taken aback. “We’re crashed in the middle of nowhere. We’ve got more to worry about than who is boss.”
“Like, we’ve got no food,” added 22, “or water.”
“Get those branches,” said Ford. “Let’s see if we can get into the storage area. Maybe some of the water survived.” Ford was less worried about the stupefying effects of city water than he was about everyone dying of thirst. Maybe the secret chemical might take the edge off of 53’s temper.
The sheet metal of the aft compartment took the brunt of their slide downhill. The aluminum skin tore away with only modest effort. The stern hatch frames were too mangled ever to move.
“There, that hole is big enough for someone to climb through,” said Ford.
Owen, 53, and 22 all looked at each other. “You’re the one who likes to go in small dark places,” said Owen.
“Who said I like dark places?” asked Ford.
“You were going in those basements,” Owen offered half-heartedly.
"Oh, fine. I'll crawl inside," snapped Ford. "You're all a bunch of babies, by the way."
Ford turned on his visor’s lights and wriggled his shoulders through the jagged hole. He had to twist his body around the bent frames and pull himself up toward the shelves. “The bottom of the lifter is all torn open,” Ford called back toward the hole. He tugged on the yellow fabric shelter case. It came apart in his hands. “The shelter is all torn up. I’m pushing parts of it toward the hole. See if any of it is any good. One of you reach in and pull them out.”
One by one, Ford transferred the fabric fragments back to waiting hands. “The blankets were on top, so they’re not ruined. Here, take them. The storage chest is broken, but six water bottles survived. Here they come." He transferred each bottle between the mangled metal tubing. An eager hand pulled each bottle out.
As Ford emerged from the sheet metal hole, the other three men stood staring at the shelter components laid out over bushes.
“What’s left?” asked Ford.
"All of the panels are chewed up," said Owen. "These two are the best of them, but they are missing corners. They’ll never inflate, even if we had any canisters. The bottom line is, we've got no shelter."
"We've got a blanket for each of us," said 22, "and a water bottle each, plus one extra. The spool of hot wire is okay, but we've got nothing to power it with. What about our breathers? They say the air out here isn’t safe.”
“I’ll get them.” Ford took a blanket and a bottle around to the door.
“This is all we could salvage,” Ford said to 99 as he covered him with one of the gray blankets. “Here’s a water bottle too. It’s by your right hand. See it?”
The fingers of 99’s right hand closed around the bottle.
“We’re going up the hill to make the signal fire now.” Ford spoke gently as he gathered breathers from the open storage compartment. “We’ll be back soon to check on you.”
The foreman nodded but said nothing.
(end Chapter 5, part 2)
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Post by texican on Nov 27, 2019 18:56:54 GMT -6
Now, what hasn't been very well answered: Where do all of the new citizens come from? Texican.... Don't want to get ahead of our story, but that question comes up later. Ford and his companions, indeed, most citizens, know that people start out small (babies) don't really know much more. The state 'provides' as needed. Kaijafon recalled some earlier hints. Yes. The two lowest classes of women are the Tenders (raise the babies) and the lowest class: Carriers -- little more than walking incubators.But, that is getting ahead of things. :-) -- Mic Mic, So there are females that carry the babies, but just whom is involved in making the babies? Texican....
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Post by texican on Nov 27, 2019 19:12:01 GMT -6
Ford is leading the way to save the day....
Now, would be a good time to kill an animal and have something to eat....
Probably water at the bottom of the bluff....
Need more chapters to find out....
Thanks Mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by mic on Nov 27, 2019 19:42:28 GMT -6
Mic, So there are females that carry the babies, but just whom is involved in making the babies? Texican.... Texican, Not to give too much away, but in Chapter 9, Ford explains that babies are 'made' in the city's Department of Health and Productivity. He's not sure how. Carriers simply carry them. -- Mic
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Post by 9idrr on Nov 27, 2019 20:46:41 GMT -6
Is this gonna turn into The Caine Mutiny meets Robinson Crusoe?
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Post by texican on Nov 27, 2019 23:58:27 GMT -6
Is this gonna turn into The Caine Mutiny meets Robinson Crusoe? More like the three stooges plus two in French Foreign Legion.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Nov 28, 2019 7:21:20 GMT -6
Chapter 5, part 3
“Let’s get started,” Ford said as he emerged from the lifter. “Here are your breathers. We’ll need as much dry wood as we can find, so look for it as we climb up.”
Ford led the way, climbing up the steep slope. On either side of their path of destruction, Ford spotted dead branches still on the trees that were within reach. Deadwood that was not lying on the ground would be drier and burn easier.
Carrying an armload of dry branches made it more difficult for the men to climb the bluff. Near the top, the footing changed from a steep slope covered in low vegetation, to a vertical wall of chalky limestone.
“Okay, now what?” Owen asked.
“Yeah, what now, leader genius?” snarked 53.
“Quiet,” snapped Ford. He was sweaty, dirty, and tired from climbing as far as they had. "If you don't have anything helpful to say, then shut up."
“You can’t tell me to shut up,” said 53. “You’re not the boss.”
“Look, do you want to get rescued or stay out here and die?” asked Ford. “Either help or go back down there and I’ll tell you to shut up whenever it’s necessary.”
“There’s a gap in the rocks over there,” said 22. He had to point with his head since both arms cradled a load of branches.
Owen side-stepped to the gap: keeping his back against the limestone. "I think he's right. It’s a wide crack in the rock. The soil keeps sloping up. No trees to hold onto, but the two rock faces are pretty close together. We can brace on that."
“You’re already there,” said Ford. “Start on up. We’ll follow.”
Ford was the last of the four to crawl over the edge of the bluff. He fell forward into the long grass. The sun felt hot on his face. Stumbling to his feet, he relished the fresh breeze.
“Now to set up the fire,” said Owen.
“Let’s look for a spot in the middle, away from this edge,” said Ford. A gravelly patch with less grass seemed like a safe place to start a fire. All four men dropped their armloads nearby.
“Whew.” Owen wiped his sleeve across his wet forehead. “Glad to be done carrying that, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to standing near a fire.”
The view from atop the bluff was vast compared to the dense forest below. From their wide patch of grass, they could see nearby bluff-tops with similar patches of grass on top of them. Steep valleys between the bluffs were dark green with foliage. To the west, between two hills, Ford could see a ribbon of reflected sky. The big river he had seen on the way up to the salvage site, lay a few kilometers away. The sight of the river gave Ford a trace of comfort. The City had a connection to the river as a water source. The river was a potential, if tenuous, connection to Ada.
“Hey, listen,” said 22. “I think I hear a lifter.”
“I hear it too,” said 53. “Look! It’s over there.” He pointed low in the sky.
The faint whine came from a silvery speck that traveled north on the far side of the big river, just above the horizon’s haze. All four men jumped up and down and waved their arms. The speck maintained its course.
“They can’t see us,” said Owen. “We’re too small from that distance. We need the fire.”
Owen quickly broke twigs to make a cone of sticks like he had seen the foreman do the night before. Ford gathered dry grasses, roughed up the yellow blades between his palms, and rolled the fibers into a ball.
“Hurry up. It’s getting fainter,” said 22.
The ball of grass crackled to life with flames. The sticks caught, followed by the medium-sized sticks Ford laid on the fire. Yellow flames began to leap up from the pile of branches. The wood crackled and popped.
“It’s not turning or anything,” said 22.
"This fire is taking forever to get going," said 53, "And where's the smoke? No one will see these puny flames in broad daylight."
“Try throwing grass on it,” suggested Ford.
The clumps of grass – both dry and green – generated a blue smoke. A ribbon of smoke trailed up toward the southeast.
“No one is going to see that either,” complained 53.
“Well, let’s not waste any fuel right now,” said Ford. “That lifter is long gone. When another one comes, we’ll throw on lots of grass and make more smoke.
The four men stood around studying the horizon. No one spoke, lest they miss the sound of fans in the distance. The sun rose to its noontime zenith and began its slow descent toward the west.
“There! There!” 22 jumped several times. “Another one is coming. This one is coming toward us!”
Eight hands grabbed clumps of grass and threw them on the fire that Ford had re-stoked to life. Billows of blue-gray smoke rose into the afternoon sky.
“Do you think it’s a rescue team coming out to find us?” asked 22. “More grass. We need more smoke!”
"It's not coming directly toward us," said Owen, "but it looks like it will come close." He grabbed more grass and threw it on the pile.
“Wouldn’t a search team be zigzagging or looking around?” asked 53. “That thing is traveling in a dead-straight line.”
“Maybe they’re going to where our lifter last reported in,” offered Ford.
“Didn’t we come from back that way?” asked Owen. “This one is going up this other way.”
“I don’t know,” snapped Ford. “It was just a guess.”
All four men jumped and waved their arms as the big cargo lifter droned past them. It's four large fans created a deep bass chord.
“It’s not stopping or turning,” said 22. “They have to be able to see all this smoke. Look, the smoke is up as high as they are.”
"What if there are no people on board?" asked Ford. The other three looked at him and stopped waving their arms.
“Just an automated cargo shipment?”
“Well, it sure didn’t seem to notice us or our smoke,” complained 53.
“Could be most of the lifters we’ll see are autonomous,” said Owen.
“Then this whole fire thing was a total waste of time,” said 53.
"Not necessarily," said Ford. "Our lifter had people on board. Others could too.”
“The sun is going down,” said 22. “We haven’t seen anything else flying. Are we going back down?”
“Maybe our fire would be more visible at night,” said Owen.
“We’ll need more wood for that,” said Ford. “We’d better gather it while there’s light to see. The footing is tricky on that slope.”
“And the fire will keep animals away too,” added 22, nodding self-approval.
“I’m going to go down to the lifter and get our blankets,” said Ford. “It gets kinda cool at night, and we won't have the shelter. You guys get some wood. I'll get what I can carry on the way back up."
“So, you’re giving orders again?” said 53.
“Would you rather go down and get the blankets?”
“No.”
“Then shut up. And yes, I just said to shut up,” said Ford. “You complain a lot for a guy stuck in the middle of nowhere with almost nothing.”
Ford half-scrambled, half-slid down the rut that the falling lifter had made through the brush. He let himself relish the ease of going down, knowing that the return trip would be a lot more work.
“How are you doing, sir?” Ford asked 99.
“Tired,” said the foreman, his eyes still closed. “Pain’s not too bad…if I don’t move. Think I slept a little. Don’t know.”
“Good. Yeah, that’s good.” Ford wanted to sound encouraging but the foreman’s enlarged stomach and how he spoke in gasping bursts suggested a darker future.
“We, um, saw a couple of lifters go by but they didn't stop or anything."
“Probably…no one onboard.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That's what we figured, too. We thought our fire might be more visible at night if a night flight had people on it. Otherwise, we'll try signaling tomorrow."
“Might not be…looking for us…you know,” said 99. “Not…valuable assets. I’m no favorite…of management either. Probably calculated that…not worth the expense to find.”
“I thought that too, but kept it to myself,” said Ford. “Still, the guys need some hope.”
The foreman chuckled until it hurt. “Yeah. Hope.”
“Well, I’ll be back in the morning.”
Ford dumped his armload of blankets and branches near the fire.
“How was he?” asked 22.
“He looked pale but in good spirits, all things considered," said Ford.
The sun had gone down, leaving only an orange glow to the horizon haze in the west. The air was already growing cooler and damp. The four men sat around the fire and pulled their blankets around their shoulders.
“Since we’re going to be working together to get out of all this,” said Ford.
“You mean if we get out of this,” grumbled 53.
“No. I mean when. We will get out. As I was saying, since we’ll be working together, I think we should all have names. I go by Ford. He’s Owen.”
“Names?” asked 22. “Why? We’ve got numbers.”
“Names have more dignity,” said Ford. “Dignity is important, right?” Ford looked 53 in the eye. “We might have nothing, but we can hold onto our dignity.”
“I’ve always been called 22. What else would anyone call me?”
“I made Ford out of my number: 40. Your number has two twos. How about if we call you Tows, or T’too, or Teuz? Kinda like the first part of Tuesday. If the days of the week can have a name, why can’t you too?"
Teuz leaned back and stared into the crackling fire. “Teuz?” he said to himself. “Teuz. Yeah. I kinda like that.”
“What about you?” Ford asked 53. “What name would you pick?”
53 sat silently for a long time. His eyes alternated between flitting around and staring into the fire.
“Well?” prompted Ford.
“No one ever asked what I wanted. I can’t think of anything.”
“How about FittyTree,” offered Teuz, “or Fivver…, Three-er… or maybe just Threesy?”
53 dropped his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Threesy? No way. Too cutesy.”
“How about He-Fights-A-Lot?” offered Owen with a grin.
“That fits,” said Ford, suppressing a smile, “but it’s a bit long. He’s always worried about who’s boss. How about Bossman?”
53 smiled eagerly at the idea.
“I am not gonna call him Boss man,” said Teuz. “He’ll start thinking he really is the boss of everyone.”
“Maybe we tweak it a bit,” said Ford. “How about Bozeman?”
“Okay, I could do Bozeman,” said Teuz.
53 rubbed his chin as he stared toward the horizon. “Bozeman. Yeah. Call me…Bozeman,” he said in a deep voice to an imaginary acquaintance.
“Good. So we are now: Ford, Owen, Teuz, and Bozeman.”
They all sat around the fire, staring at the glowing embers or watching the occasional spark float up into the dark blue sky. Teuz’s stomach growled loudly.
“Sorry. Really hungry. Think they’ll find us tomorrow?” asked Teuz.
“They?”
“The Department,” Teuz said with certainty. “When they see that we didn’t make it back, they’ll know something went wrong and come looking for us.”
Ford forced a little smile.
“And what if they never find us?” asked Bozeman.
“They must,” said Teuz. “We can’t stay out here. We'll run out of water tomorrow, and we haven't eaten since yesterday."
“I don’t know,” said Ford shaking his head. “If no one comes, we’ll have to figure out something.”
“Why would management send someone to look for us?” asked Bozeman. “They didn’t want us in the first place. 99 is always telling us that we’re worthless.”
“So, we just stay out here and…starve?” asked Teuz.
Ford could see the edges of hopelessness rising in Teuz. “I could see the big river from up here,” said Ford as he put more branches on the fire. “I’ve heard that The City gets most of its water from a huge water intake port on River One.”
“So?”
"So," continued Ford, "when we get to the river, we can follow it south to that intake port and then get back."
“That must be thousands of kilometers away,” said Teuz. “We’ll starve to death long before we get there.”
“And what’s your hurry to get back to The City?” asked Bozeman. “They kicked you out and hoped you’d die out here. You want to go back to that?”
Ford was thankful for the darkness to conceal his blush. “Not that part, no. I’ve got…friends…back in The City. I want to be with them again.”
"Friends?" asked Owen. "I knew a few people back there. I liked 'em well enough, but I wouldn’t walk thousands of kilometers to be with them.”
“It’s not thousands of kilometers,” quipped Bozeman.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been on more than a few of these salvage missions. When we’re on down-time, I’d study maps and see where we’d been. He’s right about the intake port on the river. I figure it’s more like several hundred kilometers away.”
“Oh, that’s sooo much better,” quipped Teuz. “Several hundred or a thousand. What difference does it make? We’ll starve before we get anywhere.”
"But I'm still asking why we'd go all that effort just to get back to where they don't want us," said Bozeman.
“If we don’t go there, then where do we go?" asked Owen. "We can't just live up on top of this hill. We need water, and we've got to find something to eat."
"Yeah. There are no meal boxes out here," said Teuz. “Ford is right. We have to go back to The City. That’s where the food is.”
“You just said we’d never make it,” sneered Bozeman.
Teuz squirmed under his own contradiction. He pretended to have a sudden interest in how the branches were arranged on the fire.
“Let’s rest up for now,” said Ford. “We can talk about our options tomorrow." He tried to sound optimistic even though he felt no hope that the Salvage & Reclamation Department would be sending anyone to look for them. It was more likely that they were, as 99 said, expendable resources. What options did they have? They could not walk hundreds of kilometers with no food or water. They could not stay where they were – with no food or water.
--- --- -- (end chapter 5)
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Post by mic on Nov 28, 2019 7:50:32 GMT -6
More like the three stooges plus two in French Foreign Legion.... Texican.... Ah, but what else would we expect from city boys suddenly lost in the woods? :-)
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Post by texican on Nov 28, 2019 13:48:09 GMT -6
What options did they have? They could not walk hundreds of kilometers with no food or water. They could not stay where they were – with no food or water.
There are animals and predators out there for food and a river for water and they can build a raft to float down the river and not to forget - fish or that Ford has a knife and maybe so other tools....
Problems solved....
Thanks Mic for the chapter....
Happy Thanksgiving to all....
Texican....
ps: Mic really like the story....
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Post by texican on Nov 28, 2019 13:50:13 GMT -6
More like the three stooges plus two in French Foreign Legion.... Texican.... Ah, but what else would we expect from city boys suddenly lost in the woods? :-) Need creates solutions.... Learning on the fly works.... Texican....
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Post by pbbrown0 on Nov 28, 2019 20:36:46 GMT -6
Once again, mic, you are proving yourself to be an exceptional story teller. Thank you so much for sharing your talents with us.
That one simple tool, a good sturdy knife, is going to prove a life saver in it's versatility and as a means for crafting more tools and helpful devices.
The sociology of your PAW is so full of intriguing twists and possibilities. This is an awesome scenario. I can hardly wait for more.
I had expected more damage from the wildcat/puma bites. What kind of material was Ford's jacket made of? I remember when my grown son was attacked by a mama coyote, and he blocked her initial attack with his forearm. Three of her claws cut through his jacket and shirt making a triad of three inch long bleeding cuts across his forearm.
I was quite surprised by 99's understanding of making fire and using it to ward off the wildlife. There has to be a story behind that. So far you seem to be doing a very good job of capturing realistic reactions of people from a totally different background and life experiences. I am also eager to learn how some seem to be more resistance to effects of "the water" and the breathers.
Keep up the good work...PLEASE.
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Post by mic on Nov 29, 2019 7:31:41 GMT -6
Chapter 6 – Down the Path (part 1)
Ford woke feeling cold. The blanket he had pulled over his head was wet with dew. Small fluffy clouds – orange-pink on the bottom and purple-gray on the top – drifted across a pale sky. From the circle of gray ash that had been their fire, a thin ribbon of white smoke trailed up. The other three men sat, blankets over their heads and asleep.
“Hey,” Ford said. “You guys were supposed to stay awake and keep the fire going.”
“Huh?” Owen quickly sat up tall.
“The fire’s out. You guys were asleep.”
“Sorry,” said Teuz. “We tried to….” A long yawn interrupted his sentence. “Uh, sorry. We tried to stay awake, but there was nothing to see or hear. Really boring. Even the animals went silent after a while. At least you and Bozman heard something flying in the distance. We heard nothing.”
“Wha. Morning already?” muttered Bozman. He let the blanket slip off his head as he rubbed his eyes.
“We don’t have much wood left,” said Teuz. “We should go get more.”
“Why?” asked Bozman. “If anything comes this way, it will be autonomous.”
“You don’t know that,” snipped Teuz. "There could be people on one of them. It's the fastest way to get seen, rescued, and back to The City where all the food is."
“Is that all you think about?” Bozman rolled his eyes. “I was thinking about this last night – while nothing was flying – and I think the fastest way to get food is to backtrack.”
“What?” Ford and Owen said at the same time.
“Yeah. I was looking out of the windows as we were first having motor problems. We crossed over one of those Hater roads. It had a couple crushers working on a wall or something. That means that farther up that road, there's probably a marker crew doing just what we were doing."
“So?”
"So, the crew will have food. They'll have an uplink, and we can eventually get back."
“I still think following the river down to the intake port is best,” said Ford.
“Walking that far will take forever,” said Bozman. “We’d starve before we got halfway.”
“We don’t have to walk all the way,” said Ford. “I was thinking last night too. The river isn’t that far away. When we get there, we make some sort of boat…thing. You know, like how we used to make little boats out of meal boxes during school and float them down the storm canals?”
“I never did that,” said Bozman.
"Oh, come on," said Owen. "You must have. Greek Victory Day? Boats were a second-grade project. Everyone made them.”
“Not me.”
“Whatever,” interrupted Ford. "The point is that we don't have to walk along the river for hundreds of kilometers, we float. It goes faster than walking and uses no energy.”
Bozman propped his fists on his hips and tilted his head slightly. “And walking back to that road would use even less energy.”
“So, we’re not going to stay and try to signal for help?” asked Teuz.
“Let’s gather up our stuff and go see what 99 thinks,” said Ford.
“There you go again with bossing people around,” said Bozman.
“Fine. I’ll gather up my stuff and go down.” Ford rolled up his blanket along its length, draped it over one shoulder and tied the ends together. “You stay up here and boss yourself around.”
“Wait for me,” said Teuz. He and Owen copied Ford’s blanket roll idea and hurried to catch up with him at the edge of the bluff.
During their descent, Ford glanced back to see that Bozman had tied his blanket on and scrambled behind them.
The air within the wrecked lifter carried the tart musk of old urine and wet dirt.
“Sir? Are you…awake?” Ford gently prodded the foreman’s arm. 99 stirred but did not open his eyes. “We’ve decided that we can’t stay here. I’m going to try again to bend that metal hoop that has you pinned.”
99 turned his head and mumbled something unintelligible.
"He's looking pretty weak," Ford told the others. "We have to find a thicker branch – one stronger than that bent frame – and get 99 free.
“And then what?” asked Owen.
“We carry him between two of us in a sling sort of thing. We could use a big piece of the shelter scraps.”
“Carry him?” Bozman’s head recoiled slightly in disbelief. “That would slow us down.”
Ford nodded. “Yes, it will, so we’d better get started. We need to find a stronger branch. What about that one there?" He pointed to a branch as thick as Ford's forearm. It had been broken by the lifter’s slide downhill but still hung from its tree.
“I’ll use my knife to help cut it free. Can I ask for volunteers to help me? Would that be okay?” Ford asked Bozman with feigned politeness. Bozman looked away and said nothing.
“I’ll need a boost,” said Ford. “Teuz, would you please lean up against this tree so I can stand on your shoulders? I can reach the branch that way.”
“Um…sure?” Teuz knelt slightly and pressed his back against the tree trunk.
Owen helped steady Ford as he climbed up to place a boot on each of Tuez’s shoulders. Ford held onto the stub of the branch with one hand and hacked at the many bent wood fibers with his knife. Owen pulled at the branch to encourage the fibers to break.
After several minutes of hacking, Ford paused to wipe his sleeve across his brow. “I think I’m almost through. Where’s Bozman?”
“I haven’t seen him,” said Owen. “I was focused on this branch.”
As the three men at the tree looked around, Bozman emerged from behind the wreck.
"Ah-Ha!" Bozman shouted. He held one hand high, revealing the shock collar remote. "99 is dead, and now I'm the boss. I'm giving the orders now. And if you don't like it…" He aimed the remote at them and pressed a button.
Owen crumbled into a thicket. Teuz slumped beneath Ford’s feet. Ford’s chest fell against the tree trunk as he slid down on top of Teuz. Bozman let out a yell, arched his back and fell forward down the slope.
Ford forced himself to stand while his arms and legs were still numb and tingling. He staggered over to Bozman, who was face-down in a low bush. The remote lay a half-meter away from Bozman’s hand. Ford snatched it up.
“What is the matter with you?” Ford bellowed. “How can you be that stupid?”
Bozman moaned and began to lift himself out of the bush. Ford kicked him over with a swift knee to his ribs.
“This thing works on all of us, you idiot!” Ford threw the remote down the hill.
“Um?” said Owen as he watched the black plastic slab twirling through the foliage and down into the gully.
“Um, what?" snapped Ford.
“What if that thing was able to release the collars?” said Owen.
“What? It can?”
“I don’t know if it can.” Owen shrugged. “But what if it could?”
Ford threw up his arms in frustration. “Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Yeah,” said Bozman as he lifted himself up onto his knees. “Who’s the stupid one now?”
Ford kneed Bozman again, sending him tumbling onto his back.
“I guess we should go look for it, huh,” said Teuz.
"Take the assistant director of stupid with you," said Ford. "I'll join you in a minute."
Teuz and Owen scrambled carefully down the slope. Bozman followed, holding his ribs. Ford climbed back into the wreckage, where 99 sat motionlessly. His mouth hung open slightly. A thin line of saliva trailed from the corner of his mouth.
“Sir?” Ford felt the foreman's arm. It was cool to the touch. The man did not respond to any of Ford's prodding. Ford put his palm on the foreman's chest to feel for breathing: no movement. Ford did notice that 99 had bits of beige stuff and blood under his fingernails. He did not remember seeing the foreman’s hands when he came in before, so he had no idea if the pulp was there earlier.
Ford felt through the foreman's pockets, thinking there might be some useful tools or gadgets. He found nothing.
As Ford slid down the brushy slope on his butt, he saw the other three standing in a semi-level clearing.
“Hey, Ford!” Owen waved. “We found it.” He held up the remote.
“Yeah, it was almost in the water of that stream,” said Teuz. “But look, we found this too! A path! It follows this little stream from way up there and keeps following it down that way. Could be animals made it, you think? Maybe they travel this way to find food?”
“I’ve been studying this thing,” said Owen. He turned the remote over and over in his hands. “I can’t figure it out. There are no markings on any of the buttons. Who knows what they do?”
“Those ones there are grouped like a keypad,” offered Bozman. He pulled his hand back after a brief pointing gesture and kept a close eye on Ford.
“And this other line of buttons?”
“I have no idea.”
“Should we try some?” asked Teuz. “We could all sit down with our backs against a tree or a rock so we can’t fall and get hurt – well, no more hurt than the shock, I mean – in case we guess wrong.”
Ford heaved a big sigh. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. How about if we each take turns guessing so when we’re wrong it’s not just one of us always shocking the others?”
“That sounds fair,” said Owen. “Let’s let Teuz go first. He found it.”
Teuz took the remote reluctantly. Each man found a sturdy tree that he could lean against.
“If this is a keypad, then maybe this upper button is a one. If it doesn’t release the collars, maybe it will shock us less." Teuz pressed the button, then another, and another. Nothing happened. He glanced at his fellows and shrugged before passing the remote to Owen.
Owen pressed one button and all four men jolted as if kicked in the head. “Ow. Hey, sorry. That’s not it.” He winced in anticipation as he pressed a second button. Nothing. A third button yielded no results either. He passed the remote to Bozman.
After Bozman had pressed two buttons, he alone recoiled from a kick in the head. Ford tried not to smile at the poetic justice. He resisted joking that Bozman should try those buttons again.
“That’s it. I’m done. I’ve had enough.” Ford stood and brushed the leaf litter from his legs. “We’ve been around seven times.” Ford pointed to seven notches he had cut into a sapling’s bark. “We’ve been shocking each other for over a half an hour, and we're obviously no closer to getting out of these things than when we started.”
“Maybe this thing doesn’t release the collars, after all,” said Teuz.
“Maybe they don’t give foremen that kind of discretion.” Owen rolled onto his feet. “We should keep it anyhow. We might think of something later.”
“There’s still this path to follow,” said Teuz. “Maybe it leads to food.”
“It does if we follow it uphill and back toward that road I was telling you about,” said Bozman.
“Or, we follow it down to the river and float back to The City,” said Ford.
“Float in what?” asked Bozman with a snort. “You think there’ll be some giant leftover meal box down there that you can make a Greek Victory boat out of?”
Ford stepped close in front of Bozman. “Don’t talk stupid just for the sake of sounding stupid.”
Bozman took a swing at Ford, but Ford saw it coming in plenty of time to move aside and grabbed Bozman’s arm. He scowled at Ford for a moment before yanking his arm free. The two men stared at each other, fists clenched.
“Um. Hey, well…” Teuz raised his voice. “Whichever way we go, we should probably gather up stuff from the wreck that we could, maybe, use… you think? Right, Ford? Stuff we might need? Up there?”
“That’s a good idea,” said Owen. “Ford, why don’t you and I go up and get some things. Teuz, you and Bozman can check the trail out a little in both directions. Sound good?”
Ford growled. “Fine. Let’s go.” Ford kept his eyes on Bozman until he had climbed several meters up the hillside.
Owen stood before the wreckage. “So, what would we think we should take?”
“That spool of wire, for one,” said Ford as he rummaged through the patches of former shelter fabric. “When we get to the river, we could use the wire to tie together some fallen trees for a raft.”
“Oh. That could work,” said Owen. “Why are you folding up all those scraps of the old shelter?”
“It’s getting chilly at night,” said Ford. “Maybe we can cut these into extra blankets or something.”
Owen stood beside the wreck and jumped up to grab a straight section of metal frame that stuck out of the broken wing root. He bent it back and forth several times until it broke off in his hand. He studied his half-meter-long metal prize.
“What’s that for?” asked Ford.
“You’ve got your knife. I figured I should have something better than a wooden stick.” Owen felt the jagged edge but seemed unimpressed with it. He shrugged. “Maybe I can sharpen it on a rock or something.”
Both of them peeked cautiously through the lifter’s open doorway.
“Are we just going to leave him in there?” whispered Owen.
“We could pry his body loose,” said Ford. “He won’t feel anything now. But then what do we do with him?”
“Back in The City, everyone’s body gets donated to the Farm District.”
“Not this time,” said Ford. “Hmmm. Didn’t they say that ancient Haters used to dig deep holes to put their dead kings in and then build giant stone monuments over the hole so they could force people to remember all the terrible things they’d done?”
“Are you suggesting we should dig a hole and pile rocks on top?
“No, I’m just thinking out loud. A pile of rocks would have more dignity, though,” said Ford.
“We won’t be able to dig very deep in this rocky soil,” said Owen. “I’d bet that animals would just dig him up and eat him. There’s no dignity in being eaten.”
“True.” Ford frowned at the lack of options. He knew that they could not afford the time and effort. Yet, there was something compelling about the idea of a Hater-style burial. It seemed appropriate in the wilderness, far from city ways.
“I never thought I’d feel bad for him,” said Owen. “He had quite a cruel streak.”
Ford nodded slowly. “Still, he was a man like us. That deserves something better than being eaten. Being trapped in a big metal box might make his body safer from animals. We can set the door back over the opening. The lifter’s wreck will be his monument. Come on, let's go. The day is almost half over as it is."
“Why are you carrying all that old shelter fabric?” asked Teuz.
“We might need it later,” said Ford. “We’d better get going. We have only a half a day left to get to the river.”
“River?” snorted Bozman. “I thought we were going back up to find the road?”
“You can’t be serious,” exclaimed Ford.
"I'm perfectly serious: quickest way to find food."
“You have no idea where that road is,” said Ford. The two men and moved closer and face to face.
“I do too. It was back that way.” Bozman pointed over his shoulder. “Just a couple kilometers.”
“You don’t know that,” snapped Ford. “You said we were flying when you saw it. It could be dozens of kilometers back there, and you don’t really know which way. You could be wandering around in the woods for days trying to find it – if you find it at all!”
“Well, it’s better than trying to float all the way down that river.”
“Floating is better than being lost in the woods.”
“And you still think you’re going to build a boat? There’s nothing out here.” Bozman laughed.
“I don’t think I’m going to build one. I’m going to do it,” said Ford.
“Well, I’m not going to the river,” declared Bozman. He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm going to go look for the road, find the marker crew, and I’ll be eating my fill by tomorrow.”
“Fine,” said Ford. “I don’t have time for you.” With that, he turned on his heel and began to hike down the narrow trail.
(end 6, part 1)
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Post by texican on Nov 29, 2019 14:51:53 GMT -6
Bozman took out 99.... Four left and very little agreement between the four.... What else could go wrong? Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Nov 29, 2019 20:37:41 GMT -6
Bozman took out 99.... Four left and very little agreement between the four.... What else could go wrong? Texican.... We should know better than to ask. Mic's imagination might come up with a MURPHY to end all Murphies.
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Post by mic on Nov 30, 2019 16:02:57 GMT -6
Chapter 6 -- part 2
Tuez and Owen looked at each other, Bozeman, and the departing Ford. Teuz and Owen hurried after Ford. Bozeman stood on the path, frowning and defiant.
“Slow up, Ford,” said Teuz.
“Why?” Ford turned quickly to face the other two behind him. They came to a skidding stop.
“We’re coming with you,” said Owen.
Ford’s shoulders sagged. He was not sure he wanted Owen and Teuz with him. If he was alone, he would not have to make as large of a raft. Alone, he could set whatever pace he wanted. Still, he could not refuse them following him.
"Look. If you're coming with me, I don't want any nagging about doing things this way or that way. My plan is to get back to The City as quickly as possible. If you're on board with this, you can come. If not, follow Bozman around in the woods.”
“I want to get back to The City, too,” said Teuz.
“I’m not cut out for this wilderness stuff,” said Owen.
“Fine,” said Ford with a grumble. “If you’re coming, you can share the load. Here, Teuz, you carry this bundle. Owen, you get the spool of wire and this bundle.”
The three men trudged along the narrow dirt path that followed each bend in the stream.
“Do you think Bozeman will be okay?” asked Teuz.
“Not my problem,” said Ford without looking back.
“Because, I’m sure he’s as hungry as I am,” continued Teuz. “I haven’t eaten in two whole days now. It feels like my stomach is eating itself, and my legs feel tired and…"
Ford was about to rebuke Teuz for whining too much but softened when he saw his companion’s sincere anguish. Poor guy. He’s probably never missed a meal in his life. He probably thinks he’s going to die.
“Look.” Ford tried not to sound scolding. “It’s better if you don’t think about food. It will drive you crazy. We’ll find something to eat eventually. Until then, know that your body can go many days without eating. I did it a couple times, and I was fine.”
“Why would you not eat?” Teuz looked shocked and puzzled.
“It’s a long story, but the short of it that the factory management was punishing all the workers. They only let us buy no-sauce meals for a week. I was so angry at being punished for something I didn't do that I decided I’d show them. I wouldn’t eat any of their stupid no-sauce meals.”
“Wait.” Teuz squinted at Ford. “How is that ‘showing them’? You punished yourself worse than they did.”
“They were trying to use food as a tool to control me. By not eating, I was taking away the power of that tool.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense.” Teuz shook his head.
“Then, never mind. My point is that you'll be okay, skipping a few meals. Yes, you'll feel tired more, and sometimes your brain will feel a little cloudy, but you’ll be okay.”
“What about not drinking?” asked Owen. “I’ve only got one swallow left. Teuz drank the last of his this morning.”
Ford straightened up. “Yeah, lack of water is a whole other thing. I tried going without water when I figured out they were putting stuff in it, but I could only go a few days. Headaches, cramps; it was pretty bad.”
“Ironic that there’s stream water full of running water right over there,” said Owen. “They say it’s full of deadly germs. Die of thirst or die of germs. Some choice.”
“Yeah, well, they also said the air out here is full of deadly germs,” said Ford. “We haven’t been wearing our breathers for several days.”
“Huh. You’re right.”
“Maybe the stream water is okay too. But, just to be safe, I’m thinking we can use the breather filters as water filters. Here, look at this. I was experimenting.” Ford set down his bundle of fabric and pulled a breather filter and a water bottle from his blanket roll.
“See? The neck of a water bottle just barely fits into the mounting hole on the filter case if you push hard and twist. I was using my knife to cut away the soft plastic of the filter case, so another bottleneck could be screwed into this other side. I cut the bottom off of this bottle that goes on top, so it’s like a funnel. The clean water will come out the bottom into this lower bottle.”
“How do you know the water will flow through an air filter?”
“Hmm.” Ford furrowed his brow. “I guess I just assumed. One way to find out,” Ford said with a twinkle in his eye.
The three men scrambled down the steep sides of the stream’s gully. Straddling across two large rocks, Ford dipped one of the damaged bottles into the rushing water and poured it into the funnel. Water pooled above the filter.”
“It’s not going through,” said Owen. “Water is really thick compared to air.”
“No, look!” Teuz pointed. Drops of water began to form on the bottom of the white filter disk and run into the lower bottle.
“Woohoo!” shouted Ford. “It’s great guessing right!”
“Yeah, great, but this will take forever,” said Owen.
"Hmm. You’re right, that is slow. Here, you hold this one while it drips. I’ll carve a hole in a second one. We'll double our production speed." Ford sat on a rock and whittled in short curving strokes to make a hole in the air filter's case. He test fit a bottle from time to time, adjusting his gap for a better fit.
“Look at that,” said Owen as he held up the full bottle of sparkling clear water. “It’s not fast, but it works. They said these filters had some sort of special metal gauze in them that kills germs in the air. Hope it works on watery germs too.”
“Let’s swap out the full one for an empty bottle and get this one going too,” said Ford.
“Psst,” whispered Owen. “Don’t look up, but I think I see Bozeman hiding behind a tree beside the path."
“Gave up on his road already?” said Ford with a smile.
He finally realized he had no idea which way to walk through the woods.
“He must’ve given up and followed after us. I wonder if he wants to rejoin the group?” asked Owen.
“Are you going to let him?” asked Teuz.
“He’s more trouble than he’s worth,” said Ford. “But, he’s got as much of a right to survive as we do. If he wants to help us get down the river, then yes,” said Ford.
He held up the first bottle to let the sun sparkle through the clear water. “Here goes.” He tipped his head back to take a long swig. Owen and Teuz stared at him for a long moment.
Ford studied their intent faces. “Are you waiting to see if I gag, choke, fall over and die?”
“Um…well…”
“It’s fine.” Ford pushed a full bottle into Teuz’s hands. “Drink up. It will put something in your empty belly.”
“Here he comes,” whispered Owen.
“Hey guys,” said Bozeman in a forced casual tone. “I was feeling bad for you and thought I should help you.”
“Is that right?” said Ford skeptically.
“I couldn’t just leave you guys out here, starving, while I filled my belly with delicious brown-sauce meals.”
“Since when do marker crews get issued brown-sauce meals?” asked Teuz.
“Never mind. What I’m saying is that I’m here to help you guys instead,” said Bozman.
“Great,” said Ford with scant enthusiasm. “As long as you’re here to help us get down the river as quickly as possible, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Of course. Of course. Say, that’s a pretty slick water filter setup you have there.”
“Yeah. It’s working pretty well,” said Ford. “The first way you can help is by holding this second filter while it fills the bottle. I’m going to try and make up a third unit.
What sky Ford could see through the tree canopy looked darker than he expected. Is it almost evening already? His visor had run out of power shortly after dawn so he had no idea what time it was. He had hoped to reach the river before nightfall. That seemed less likely.
With all six bottles filled, the four men resumed hiking down the winding dirt path. The stream grew wider as smaller streams joined it. Ford kept a brisk pace even though he could not see the river. Deep in the valley, there was too much foliage to see much farther than a dozen meters. The river could be just around the bend. It could be a kilometer away.
“Um, Ford?” asked Teuz. “Could we take a break? After all that water, I’ve gotta pee.”
Ford tried to hide his impatience. The light was fading. He did not want to be trying to follow the path in the dark. They would not have their visor lights to aid them. He feigned a smile as he turned. “Sure. Just don’t pee in the water, okay? We might be drinking it later.”
“Ewww,” said Owen. “Go uphill, Teuz.”
Teuz set down his bundle and used saplings to pull his way up the gentle valley slope.
“So, what are you thinking you’ll make your boat out of?” asked Bozeman.
“If you’re just going to argue…” began Ford.
“No, no, no.” Bozeman put his hands up. “I’m just asking…because, well, there’s nothing out here. You sounded so confident. I figured you must have something in mind.”
“Even if you’re not serious, I’ll tell you anyhow,” said Ford. “You notice how there are fallen trees in the woods here and there? Sure, some of them are rotten, but some are dry. I figure we can drag some dry ones to the river and lash them together with some of the wire that Owen is carrying.”
“And then?”
“The river flows south toward The City’s water intake,” said Ford. “We make some long poles out of other young trees and use those to push off if we get too close to shore. It should be pretty easy work.”
“Hey guys!” said Teuz. “Look what I found!” He held out his hands to reveal a pile of dark purple berries. “You were right, Ford. We did find food.” He popped two more berries in his mouth and chewed with a wide smile.
“What are those?” Ford asked. “How do you know they’re safe to eat?”
“Oh, they’re safe. I was watching some birds eating them while I peed. Safe enough for birds, I figured. They’re pretty good. Try some.” Teuz held his hands out. “They’re plenty more back there in that clearing.”
Owen began reaching for the berries. Ford pushed his hands away. “Teuz, you’re not a bird. What if they’re not good for people?”
“Nonshensh,” said Teuz with his mouth full. "I had a big handful back there, and I feel fine."
“What if he’s right, Ford?” asked Owen. “Maybe we can pick a bunch of those berries to take with us for the ride down the river. Beats being hungry.”
Ford shook his head and ran both hands through his short brown hair. “I don’t know. The teachers were always telling us how everything out in the wild was dangerous.”
“Teachers told us a lot of things,” said Owen. “We’re finding out that some of it wasn’t true – like in that photo book you have.”
“What photo book?” asked Bozeman.
“Oh,” said Teuz. “My mouf feelz all tingly.”
"Spit 'em out," said Ford. "Spit 'em out.”
Teuz spit the purple pulp onto the leaves of a bush beside the path. “Uh. Tingly an’ itchy. My tung feelz aw idchee.”
“Maybe he should drink some water,” suggested Bozman. “Rinse out his mouth.”
“Good idea.” Ford pushed a water bottle into Teuz’s hands. “Take a big mouthful and swish it around. Spit it out. Try that a couple times.”
“Ugh. Idz nod helbing,” said Teuz. “My tung feelz fat an’ idchee. Ow!” Teuz doubled over. “Ugh. Now my stomach feels like…" Teuz folded in half and retched purple juice onto the path.
“Uh. I feel…” he bent over and threw up again: more purple juice and chewed bits. He wrapped his arms around his stomach as if he felt he might burst if not restrained.
“Let’s get him someplace he can sit down,” said Ford.
“There’ a big rock over there,” said Bozeman. Ford and Owen each took an arm and led the bent-over Teuz toward the boulder. They had to stop twice to let Teuz convulse.
"You just rest here a while," Ford told Teuz. “Maybe it’ll pass.”
“Yeah. Maybe it’ll…” Teuz put his head between his knees and tried to retch. Other than a few threads of yellow spit, he had nothing left within him to throw up.
Ford winced at the sight and felt his own stomach twist in sympathy.
“Oh man,” gasped Teuz, yellow drool dangling from his mouth. “Quick! Help me get off these clothes! I’ve got to poop real bad…” Teuz bent over again in pain.
Ford and Owen quickly pulled Teuz’s arms out of his overalls. They got his underwear down to his knees before a blast of diarrhea sprayed the side of the rock. The two men jumped back to avoid the splatter. Teuz fell to the ground in a fetal position.
“Ughhh…My gut…hurts,” gasped Teuz, his eyes clamped shut. “It hurts!”
Owen pulled Ford a few steps away and whispered, “Is he gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know.” Ford shrugged. “I’ve never seen anyone like…" Another set of dry heaves interrupted Ford’s thought. “He sure isn’t going anywhere like that.”
“Hey, um, Teuz is shivering,” said Bozeman. “Shouldn’t we do something?”
“Well, we don’t dare put his overalls back on him, he might…” Another blast of watery diarrhea burst out of Teuz’s curled and naked form. “…do that again.”
“Let’s gather up some dry wood and make a fire for him,” said Ford. “We’ll have to make a camp here for the night and tend to him.”
“Tend to him?” asked Bozeman. “What do we do besides stay on this side of him?”
“I don’t know,” said Ford. All he could think of was keeping Teuz warm and giving him water when he was up to it – if he was ever going to be up to it. A part of Ford worried that Teuz was going to die. Ford felt powerless to truly help.
“How about we set up over here?” asked Bozeman, pointing to a level space between two young trees. “It’s kinda soft with the moss and, well, away from where Teuz has been…sick already.”
“Good spot,” said Ford. “How about you and Owen gather some wood. I’ll cut up one of the old shelter panels to make a ground cloth for him.”
Teuz moaned and let fly another watery blast. "Yeah. We're gonna go waaay over there to look for some wood,” said Owen. The two of them hurried off.
Ford gathered a dozen rocks and set up a ring for their fire. He was about to cut into the larger of the shelter fragments when he felt tiny drops fall on his cheeks.
Rain? Oh great. That’s just what we need.
“Hurry up with that wood,” Ford shouted in the direction Owen had gone. “Looks like it’s starting to rain.”
“Good thing I didn’t start cutting up this long piece.” Ford spoke to Teuz, but the naked man on the ground only shivered and moaned. “We’ll need this for a roof.”
Ford tried propping up the corners of the fabric panel with deadfall branches or wedged into the fork of a sapling. The middle always sagged low. That will just fill up with rain. Need to make the middle the high point.
The spool of wire gave him an idea. He wound the end around one young tree at about shoulder height. He pulled the wire tight by winding it around another tree three meters away. This second winding he did at waist height. He draped the fabric over the wire, propping the corners up with his deadfall branches.
“There we go,” Ford spoke to Teuz. "At least we have a roof. I'm hoping we can sneak our fire under this high end to keep the rain off our fire. Don't want too big of a fire, or we'll melt our roof."
Ford laid out the fragments of shelter fabric beneath the tarp roof. He struggled to move Teuz beneath the yellow roof. He pulled up patches of moss and arranged the dozen stones into a fire ring.
“Hey,” said Owen as he jogged up. “It’s starting to rain. Oh. Cool. You made a roof. Look, I found a standing dead tree over there. Lots of dry branches I could reach.”
“Put them here, under the tarp,” said Ford. “I need to get some kindling.”
“There’s no dry grass around here,” said Owen.
"Hmmm," Ford remembered how carving holes in filter cases produces little curls of plastic. "Maybe I can make some wood curls to use as kindling."
Ford selected one barkless branch. He propped one end against his belly as a third hand and began trying to slice thin shavings by . At one point, his knife dug too deeply and stuck. He pulled harder. The knife jumped out of the branch; the point stopped only a few centimeters away from his stomach. Ford looked up with wide eyes. Owen looked back at him with wide eyes.
“Okay. That was close. Think I’ll carve away from myself,” said Ford. He propped the stick against the mossy ground and continued creating little curls of gray wood.
"Hey, it's starting to rain," said Bozman as he walked up.
“Oh really,” said Ford.
“Ooo. Neat shelter. Look. I brought a bunch of dry twigs for the little cone thing.”
“Set your wood on top of Owen’s.
“How’s Teuz?” asked Owen.
“No better. He hasn’t retched or squirted in a while. I don’t think there’s anything left inside him to squirt.”
Ford gathered his shavings into a little pile and applied the shock prod. The chips refused to burn. After repeated sparks, a few of the thinner edges began to glow orange. Recalling what he had seen the foreman do, Ford bent down and blew gently on the tiny embers. They crawled along the edges as if they were living worms. Eventually, a yellow tooth of a flame appeared. Ford held one of the bigger curls in the flame. It caught. The flaming curl went into the cone of twigs. Within a few minutes, a crackling fire danced among the branches.
The rain hissed in the treetops above them. Eventually, larger drops began to fall from the tree canopy. The three men adjusted where they sat so as to be better covered by the yellow tarp. They covered their naked friend with some of the smaller patches of yellow fabric. Teuz remained in a tight fetal position, moaning periodically.
“So far, so good,” said Ford. “As long as we don’t let the fire get too tall, it should be okay under this high side of our roof.”
"It's getting dark," said Owen. "I suppose one of us should sleep so we can relieve the others, keeping the fire going."
“Bozeman. You want to sleep first?” asked Ford.
“Sure. Not much room under here. Can I cover up with another of those shelter scraps? Don’t want my blanket getting wet.”
The light rain continued through the night. Ford kept the fire going.
“Teuz isn’t moaning or shivering anymore,” said Owen.
“Is he…still breathing?” Ford asked.
Owen timidly placed his hand on Teuz’s back and let out a sigh of relief. “Yes.”
“Whew. That’s good. Maybe the fire is helping him.”
“So, our choices are to die of starvation or die like Teuz?” asked Owen.
“Not if I can help it.”
--- --- (end chapter 6)
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Post by pbbrown0 on Nov 30, 2019 17:51:13 GMT -6
Excellent Chapter, mic. Thank you.
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Post by kaijafon on Nov 30, 2019 18:34:45 GMT -6
Poor Teuz! Could have been the water... or berries. They need a good ID book and a pan to boil water! thanks! Made a nice break while I do lesson plans
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Post by texican on Dec 1, 2019 0:21:06 GMT -6
Poor Teuz! Could have been the water... or berries. They need a good ID book and a pan to boil water! thanks! Made a nice break while I do lesson plans K, They all drank the water, but only Teuz ate the berries.... Trial and error eating strange plants just might be fatal.... Where is the woodsman to help them? Texican....
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Post by mic on Dec 1, 2019 16:20:25 GMT -6
Chapter 7 – Downstream (part 1)
“Hey, wake up,” said a voice. Someone poked Ford in the shoulder. His half-opened eye slowly focused on what turned out to be a spindly bush. Where am I? Ford sat up quickly once his mind recalled the events of the day before.
“Teuz? How’s Teuz?”
“He mumbles now and then,” said Bozeman.
Ford let out a sigh of relief. He feared that Teuz might not have made it through the night. He had no idea what affects those berries might cause but hoped Teuz’s cramps would eventually pass as his own pains faded from drinking rainwater.
A flash of yellow light distracted Ford’s attention. “Hey, you kept the fire going.” The morning air seemed especially cold and damp. He scooted closer and held his palms toward the flames.
“Well, yeah. It’s cold out here.” Sparks flew up when Bozeman added another branch to the fire.
Ford felt some reassurance, seeing Teuz’s blanket rise and fall with his breathing. Would he get better, or was he in a slow decline?
“The rain stopped?” asked Owen before a big yawn.
“A few hours ago,” said Bozeman. “Give or take. I have no idea what time it is anymore.”
“I’ve gotta pee,” said Ford.
“Me too,” said Owen. “Remember the rule about not peeing near the stream.” Both young men ventured up the gentle slope to find a spot to relieve themselves.
When Ford was almost done, a glimpse of reddish-brown amid the green ferns caught his attention. Using a stick, he cautiously pushed aside the foliage. The red proved to be patches of fur. It was an animal, long dead. Black and yellow beetles crawled around inside a framework of white ribs. A partial jawbone lay nearby, studded with a row of pointed teeth.
Ford stared at the remains. He wondered what sort of animal it had been. Animals more substantial than a rat or a pigeon were forbidden in The City. What he knew of animals was solely from school lessons. What lay amid the ferns before him did not resemble any of the schoolbook illustrations of the noble animals inhabiting the purified wild.
The remains were too small to be a bear or a wolf. It was too large to be a squirrel. Whatever it was, it was also too broken and eroded to be majestic.
“What are you staring at?” asked Owen.
“I’m not sure.”
“You don’t know what it is, and yet you're still staring at…oh." Owen stopped beside Ford.
“I guess that is what happens to dead bodies out here,” said Ford. “Something eats all the soft stuff, leaving just bones.”
“Is that what’s going to happen to us?” asked Owen quietly.
“What? No,” said Ford. He was embarrassed that he was thinking the same thing. “No. We’re going to build a raft and float down to the intake. From there, we travel to The City. Back to…” Ford thought of Ada but edited himself. “Back to food on shelves. We could be back in The City by the day after tomorrow…give or take.” Ford knew he was talking far too optimistically. Owen did not question it. A hopeful lie was better than accepting the fate of becoming beetle food and bleached bones.
“My turn now,” said Bozeman as Ford and Owen rejoined the camp. “I think Teuz is awake, by the way.”
“Teuz!” Ford put on a cheerful face. “How ya feelin’?”
Teuz did not sit up or stretch out. He remained o his side, tightly curled with his knees drawn up to his chest. "My guts still hurt," he said weakly. “It hurts less if I stay like this.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should keep resting,” said Ford. “Resting is good. After all of your…troubles, last night, you need rest. I think you’ll need to drink a lot of water, too. You lost a lot of…water.”
“Can I put my overalls back on?”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Ford.
“I’ve got nothing left in me,” said Teuz without looking up. “The bugs are biting me. I'm cold, and I don't like being naked.”
Ford brushed away a big fly from Teuz’s foot that stuck out from beneath the blanket. “I guess it would be okay. Owen, maybe you could help Teuz get dressed. I’ll go down to the stream and refill our water bottles.”
As Ford stooped on a flat rock to fill his scooper bottle, he noticed several little fish darting away from him. Fish? Some of them were smaller than his finger and nearly the same shade of tan as the streambed. A few greenish-yellow-backed fish, longer than his hand (from wrist to fingertips), wriggled lazily in place – their heads facing into the gentle current.
Hmmm. Fish. They used to say something about fish. What was that? Ford wracked his brain to recall old school lessons while he filtered the stream water. School lessons took on a monotonous quality, whether they were math or grammar or science. The only thing that mattered on the tests was knowing that the Haters were responsible for all the badness in the world. The City was the culmination of everything good. All other details were peripheral and not on the tests. Still, there was something unusual they said about fish.
Once Ford had noticed the fish, he could see that there were many of them, relatively well camouflaged against the pebbly stream bottom. The way they swam in place against the current fascinated him.
“What’s taking you so long?” asked Owen as he stepped down into the gully.
“Sorry. I got to watching these fish. Look at ‘em.”
“Where? I don’t see anything.”
“Look there by that rock and there.” Ford pointed. “Do you remember what the teachers used to say about fish? I know it was something about how The Haters were bad to fish, but all I can remember is that they were bad.”
Owen furrowed his brow as he thought. “I think you’re remembering the biology lessons about how cruel The Haters were to all animals – even fish. They used to stab fish, kill them, and eat them.”
“Eat them? Really?”
“That’s what they said,” replied Owen. “I don't know why anyone would eat something like that when there are... Wait. Are you thinking of killing and eating one of those fish?”
“I am now.”
“How are you going to do that?” asked Owen. “The Haters in the pictures had big hook-shaped things.”
The reminder triggered Ford’s memory. The lessons about Hater cruelty to animals usually featured several fat men wearing fur jackets grinning over some dead animals. The fishing pictures had them carrying a big steel hook upon which a sad-eyed fish had been impaled. How did they stab fish with those big hooks?
“I don’t have a hook, but maybe I can stab one with my knife.” Ford drew his knife and squatted down at the edge of a flat rock. He tried several stabs when a fish swam near his rock. All he managed to do was splash himself with cold water.
“Man, they’re fast. I don’t think I’ve even been close to getting one. How did they do it with a big hook? All I’m getting is wet.”
“Maybe they see you coming,” offered Owen. “Or, maybe it’s your sudden motion that they react to.”
“How do you stab something slowly?” Ford imagined trying the opposite approach. "Maybe that's it, though. I’ll try going really slowly. Never mind the knife." He returned it to its sheath.
He lay on his chest, both arms slowly lowered over the side of the rock and into the water. Ford noticed that the fish seemed unbothered when fish swam through the water-weeds. He wiggled his fingers slowly, trying to mimic the sway of the grass-like weeds. The little fish scattered, but the bigger fish did not. Ford moved his fingers alongside one fish. Just as his mind formed the thought, grab him, the fish darted away.
How did you know? I’m not done with you. It’s probably a crime to catch you, but I'm already in deep trouble for killing that cat animal. Plus, we've got to eat something, or we'll starve. The image of a dead animal – bits of fur and bones – came to mind. It’s you or us. Ford slowly stepped into the shallow water and tried moving his fingers in weed-like motions beside the fish again. This time, the fish jumped over a semi-submerged rock.
For a moment, Ford was upset that his potential meal got away. Looking again, he saw the fish circling in a shallow pool created by other rocks.
No, wait. This is a good thing. You’ll be easier to catch in there. Ford stepped into the pool. The fish circled frantically but could find no exit. Ford grabbed, missed, and grabbed again. He splashed water in his face. In one grab, he got his fingers around the fish, but it was too slimy and slippery to keep a grip on.
Ford lunged at the fish as it wriggled through a shallow spillway back to the stream. He got both hands around it but lost his footing and fell into the pool.
“Ha! I got him!” shouted Ford. He held the fish up so Owen could see it. Ford rolled onto his back and sat up.
“Wow. You really did get him. You’re also totally soaked.”
“Hehe, I sure am, but I got him! Look!”
“Okay, great, but now what?” asked Owen.
Ford’s elated smile collapsed. “Um. I’m not sure. Do you remember if they said how The Haters ate the fish they killed?” Ford studied the wriggling fish. Nothing about it looked particularly appealing as food.
“Not really. But, I remember other pictures that showed Haters with dead animals on sticks over a fire. Maybe they did that with fish too.”
“Fire, huh? We have that. It looks like we have something to eat today." Ford tried to picture eating the fish, but the mental images refused to form. What did eating a fish look like? He had no idea what parts you could eat and what parts you could not. Fins and eyes seemed unlikely as food, but what about the rest?
“I don’t know how much of a fish is edible,” said Owen, “but even if it’s most of it, that one fish won’t go far for four of us.”
Ford glanced at the fish in his hands. Even if everything except the fins and eyes were edible, it would be gone in six bites – a bite and a half for each of them. Owen was right. One fish like that was not enough.
“Then, we’ll need more,” said Ford. The details of what parts to eat would have to be sorted out later. “Here. You hold this one.”
“Me?” Owen took a step backward.
“Who else is out here right now? Come on, take it. It can’t bite. I don’t think it’s even alive anymore.”
Ford waded back into the stream. He was already wet. With his hands, he gently herded another of the larger green-backed fish toward the edge of the shallow pool. When it was near the rock that the first fish jumped over, Ford quickly scooped the water below the fish up and over the barrier. The second fish jumped to escape his hands and was trapped in the pool. This time, Ford scooped and flung water to get the fish onto the shallow sand. From there, he could pick up the wriggling fish with significantly less falling down.
“Okay. Now we have two,” said Ford. “Here, you get one in each hand.” He thrust the second fish at Owen.
After catching a third fish the same way, Ford looked up and down the stream for a fourth. There were no fish. I must have scared the rest of them away. Oh well, this is a start.
While walking back to the camp, Owen said, “I remember something else that they said about the Haters and how they ate animals. Teachers said that part of their cruelty was that they used to rip their guts out first.”
Guts. That was a word popular among his classmates in the first and second grades. Everyone knew their own bodies contained guts. Everyone had lungs. You could feel them fill with air. You had a heart. You could feel it beating. You knew you had a stomach, especially when it hurt. Beyond those few named organs, guts referred to the other squishy stuff that was neither muscle nor bone. Ford never had any mental images for what all that other squishy stuff looked like.
“I don’t remember that part,” said Ford. “I wasn't a very attentive student. Do you think Haters really did that or was it just our teachers making up stories to shock us?”
“I think they believed it,” said Owen. “They seemed genuinely horrified at Hater brutality and wanted us to be horrified too.
“I wonder if guts taste bad, and that’s the reason why,” mused Ford. It was hard to prejudge guts as unappealing for food since he had no mental visuals to go by. What did guts look like?
Back at the camp, Ford laid a fish on one of the smaller scraps of shelter fabric. He poked around the belly of a fish with the tip of his knife. He imagined the fish as a meal box that had to be zipped open.
“Guts would be in the middle, I think,” Ford said, mostly to himself. Owen and Bozeman sat on their knees, leaning forward so they could see Ford work.
Ford made a shallow cut along the fish’s belly. When he opened up the slit he made, coils of gray intestines along with other pink and yellow blobs spilled out over Ford’s hand.
“Eww,” said Owen as he leaned back. Bozeman just stared.
Ford was more puzzled than revolted. That’s all? He expected two or three times as much. He looked into the small rib cavity. “I thought there’d be more than this.”
Owen’s face twisted into a grimace of disgust.
“I guess this means you aren’t going to de-guts your own fish,” Ford said flatly.
"Oh, well, it's just that …you're doing such a great job," said Owen through a forced smile. “I’m sure I’d just hack things up. You're so skilled with that knife, and…would you do mine too…please?”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Yours too, I suppose, Bozeman?”
“Well, it is your knife.”
“Right.” Ford swallowed hard and faced the other two fish. If only to himself, he had to admit that cold and slimy guts were a little disgusting. Since his companions were so squeamish, he put on an air of indifference – if only out of spite.
After the three fish were gutted, he whittled points on three slender sticks. He poked the ends into the fishes' mouths until they felt firmly lodged. He handed one stick to Owen and one to Bozeman. They held their fish over the fire.
“I never thought I would eat anything like this,” said Owen with an involuntary swallow. “All I’ve ever eaten in my whole life were boxed meals. Do you think it will be slimy or taste like phlegm?”
“Phlegm?” Bozeman was taken aback. “Why would you think that?”
“I’ve only ever swallowed two things,” said Owen. “Boxed meals and, when I was sick with a bad cough, phlegm. I don’t think fish is going to taste like a boxed meal, so I…”
Bozeman snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s just dumb. I’m hungry enough not to care. I do like my food hot, though. How do we know when they’re cooked enough? There’s no timer. Mine’s barely warm.”
“Hold it closer to the fire,” said Ford. He noticed wisps of steam rising from his fish. The fire hissed and flared up momentarily from juice dripping out of his fish. “We’ll just have to try one after a while and see what it’s like.”
“When they are done, how do you eat them?" asked Owen. His nose was wrinkled in a way that suggested there was no right answer to his question.
Teuz lay on his side, still curled up. His eyes were open and staring at the fish on the ends of the sticks.
(end Ch. 7, part 1)
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Post by texican on Dec 1, 2019 18:50:05 GMT -6
Food....
Second step to survival....
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 1, 2019 19:34:39 GMT -6
Pointed stick into mouth, huh? Next step spear?
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