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Post by mic on Dec 2, 2019 17:19:39 GMT -6
Chapter 7, part 2
When Ford could see no more steam coming from his fish, he thought that might mean it was done cooking. The small fins had burned away to stubby spikes. The skin was hot and starting to flake off.
“I don’t think we can eat the skin part,” said Ford. He laid his cooked fish on a scrap of yellow fabric and tried to peel the skin off using his knife and a stick. The tough and scaly skin came away in strips, revealing a pale pink flesh within. Ford lifted a piece of meat free with the tip of his knife. He had to toss it from hand to hand while blowing on it before he could eat it. The other three men stared at him with their mouths hanging slack.
Ford tossed the warm bit of pink into his mouth. He half-chewed, half moved it around with his tongue.
“Well?” asked Owen. “Was it like phlegm?”
“No,” said Ford after he swallowed. “Not that much taste, actually. Better than a no-sauce meal, though." He peeled more skin away, but the fish broke into fragments. "Oh, and there are little sharp bones inside." He spat out some small, sharp bones into his hand. “See? Don’t just chomp down and swallow.”
Owen and Bozeman peeled their fish with similarly untidy results. Teuz looked on but said nothing.
“Do you feel up to eating a little?” Ford asked.
Teuz shook his head. “I don’t think I could.”
Bozeman gave up pulling bits of fish out of the skeleton. He held his fish with both hands so he could nibble the bits of meat from between the thin bones.
"Oh, man. I never imagined eating something that didn't come in a box, but I think I could eat a hundred of these,” said Bozeman.
“I don’t know if I can get used to this,” said Owen. “It’s squishy. I’m too hungry to be fussy right now, but a box-meal is way better.” Owen carefully picked out flakes of meat before passing the bits to his lips.
Ford could see Bozeman out of the corner of his eye, enjoying his fish, but Ford kept his eyes on his own fish. “So, Bozeman looks like you’re eating sooner than if had you gone looking for that road of yours.” He was not merely needling Bozeman, although there was a bit of that. Ford wondered if Bozeman had really changed his mind. Was he genuinely willing to help build the raft and get back to The City, or was he just mooching while there was food to mooch?
“My boxed meals would have tasted way better,” Bozeman said with food in his mouth. There would have been lots to eat, too, if we…when we found that marker crew.”
Ford nodded. Still can’t admit that he was wrong. Can’t count on him.
“Right. Well, you have a point, though,” said Ford without looking up. “We’ll need more than just these few fish. This is another good reason to get down to the river.“ He made eye contact with Bozeman for a little I-was-right glance.
Ford pointed downhill. “The stream is getting winder and will be wider yet down by the river. It will probably have more fish in it. We should be able to find a good, level spot to set up our tarp-roof, gather firewood, and catch more fish. After we’re not starving anymore, we can drag fallen trees to the river and make a raft and head back to The City.”
“When is that going to happen?” asked Owen. “Teuz doesn’t look like he’s up to going anywhere.”
Ford studied Teuz as he lay on the tarp. He was dressed in his coveralls, but under his blanket, he looked frail. He also looked too heavy to carry more than a few meters. “What do you say, Teuz?” Ford asked gently. “Think you could walk…maybe? We need to keep going down to the river.”
“I’m not sure,” said Teuz. “I could try.”
“Excellent!” said Ford. “Here, let me help you up. Not too fast now. Take it easy. That’s it. See? You’re doing it. One leg at a time. Hey! There you go! Look, guys. Teuz is up!"
Teuz stood before them on unsteady legs, hunched over like an old man.
“Yeah, but for how long?” quipped Bozeman. Owen jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.
“Let’s get this stuff packed up,” said Ford. “Maybe we can get to the river before dark.”
The three of them folded and rolled their miscellaneous fragments of shelter fabric. Ford slung Teuz’s blanket loop and his own over his shoulder. “Here, hold onto my sleeve while you walk. It will steady your steps until you get used to walking again.”
The single-file trail followed the stream through thickening underbrush. Bozeman and Owen led the way. Ford and Teuz followed behind.
“Sorry for slowing you guys down,” said Teuz. “It still hurts to stand all the way up.”
Ford was frustrated at the slow pace but knew his friend could not move any faster. “Don’t worry about it,” said Ford. “You’re doing great. We’ll be down to the river in no time.”
“Hey,” called out Bozeman, unseen around a bend in the trail. “Check this out.”
When Ford and Teuz caught up to them, Ford could see some light glittering through the foliage ahead of them.
“Look at that, Teuz,” said Ford. “I told you that you could make it to the river.”
“We can’t get there from here," said Owen. "I checked it out, but the ground between us and the river is really soft and muddy. I sank up to my ankles in the muck." Owen lifted one of his mud-covered boots as a visual aid. "I couldn’t get close to the river at all.”
“Not the river,” said Bozeman. “I meant to check this out!” He pointed to a packed dirt path wide enough for two or three to walk side by side. It crossed the path they had been following. The new track was nearly devoid of weeds. "If that little path led us to a few fish, what do you think this big path leads to?"
“Maybe a herd of huge and angry animals made that path,” said Owen. “Look how wide their trail is.”
Bozeman scoffed and dismissed Owen’s caution with a wave.
“It might take us around this soggy area too so we can get up to the river,” said Ford.
“Still planning on making a raft, huh?” said Bozeman with a snort. “Why? Maybe we don’t need to go back to The City.”
“What?” asked Owen and Teuz. “Not go back?”
"Think about out," said Bozeman. "We have a roof to keep the rain off of us. Ford has figured out how to catch food, fire to keep warm, and filters for water. We won’t die out here. Besides, The City wanted to get rid of us, remember? What’s to go back to?
Ford imagined Ada hanging her head in sadness as she sat alone on a park bench. He thought about that little curl of hair on the back of her neck. He imagined that he might put his arm around her shoulder to reassure her that she was not alone. Abandoning her to live alone amid millions of oblivious people seemed like a crime.
“We are going back,” said Ford.
Teuz’s face brightened.
“Let’s go down this other way,” said Ford.
“Why do we have to go the way you want?” said Bozeman with his hands on his hips.
Here we go again. “Because going this way, your new path probably crosses the stream,” said Ford. “That might be a good spot to catch more fish. You want to eat again, don’t you?”
“Well…”
Teuz was able to walk unaided as the path sloped gently downhill. The stream, two meters wide at that point, interrupted the new route. The water was only ankle deep. Several of the green-backed fish wriggled quickly through the shallow zone as they swam upstream.
“Let’s leave our stuff over on that grassy area,” said Ford. “Owen, how about if you look for a good spot to set up our shelter. Bozeman, would you please gather some firewood for us so we can cook your food?”
Bozeman frowned but turned on his heel and followed the path father down.
“Teuz, are you up to doing anything?”
“I don’t know. Like what?”
“Hmm. Maybe you could gather some dry grasses to help us start the fire.”
“Yeah. I could do that.” Teuz shuffled over to the grassy area and began to search.
Ford turned his attention to the stream and the fish. On either side of the shallow area where the path crossed, the stream was more than waist-deep. There was no handy pool in which he could trap fish. Watching them swim over the submerged path gave him an idea. They were too fast to grab, but maybe if he made a pen on the shallow area, it would slow them down enough to catch.
He tried arranging a circle of rocks with an opening downstream, but little water entered his ring. The fish avoided his pen. He needed to let the water flow through his pen.
Maybe I need to make a wall out of sticks stuck into the sand close together.
"Hey, guys," shouted Bozeman. He was a couple dozen meters down the path. "Come see! I found something else!" His voice sounded excited.
“I’m trying to catch your food,” protested Ford.
“Yeah, well, maybe I found some of my own,” said Bozeman. “You tell me.”
“What did you find?” Ford asked as he hurried toward Bozeman. Owen and Teuz followed along.
Bozeman led them through a thicket of young maple and birch trees. Beyond stretched a wide patch of waist-high bushes. He stopped in front of a bush with dark berries on stems. "What do you think? Huh? Do these look like food? I think they do. And look, there are tons of them."
He spread his arms wide at the sight of dozens and dozens of similar bushes.
Owen shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not eating any wild berries and end up suffering the way Teuz did. No way.”
Teuz did not speak but shook his head too.
“Actually, you might be right, Bozeman,” said Ford as he knelt down. “I know this plant. Five leaves on a stem. Thorns. Berries made of a bunch of little mini-balls. These are blackberries.” He picked one and tossed it into his mouth.
Owen and Teuz gasped. “How can you be so sure?”
“Oh yeah. These are okay,” said Ford as he chewed the tart berry. “I have a…well, I had a little plant like this in my rooftop garden. It made a few berries this summer.”
“You had a plant?” Owen’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Who owns a plant?”
“I did,” said Ford matter-of-factly. He continued to push blackberries into his mouth. “I had a little garden – kind of – up on the roof of my building. I found a little blackberry sprig growing in one of the park planters. It had thorns. I thought it might be a rose. I took it up to my little garden. It turned out to be a blackberry, but that was okay.”
“You’re sure?” asked Owen.
“Would I be stuffing my cheeks if I was worried? Come on, Teuz. They’re good,” said Ford.
“No. That’s okay.” Teuz took a few steps backward. His hands waved away the offer.
“Just pick the black ones, though,” added Ford. “The red ones aren’t ripe yet: too hard and tart. Be careful. Even the leaves have thorns.”
Ford, Owen, and Bozeman began picking berries and transferring them to their mouths as quickly as they could. They moved from bush to bush, chewing, swallowing, sometimes giggling as they were looking carefully for the ripe blackberries among the red ones.
“Man, these are good,” said Bozeman. “Some are tart, but some are super-sweet.”
“What are the odds of us finding a whole field of food berries?” Owen wondered out loud as he stooped to pick low berries.
“Ha! Yeah,” said Ford. “Back in The City, I had only my one scrawny little…”
The movement of a shadow in the corner of his eye distracted him. He looked over to see a foot. His eyes followed the leg upward until he saw an arrowhead aimed at his face. Behind the arrowhead were fingers holding a taut bowstring. Above the fingers, the eye of a young woman stared a hole through him.
“Daddy!” shouted the young woman. “We’ve got trouble!”
---- -- (end Ch. 7)
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Post by NCWEBNUT on Dec 2, 2019 18:01:38 GMT -6
I was wondering when the Natives would show up
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 2, 2019 21:59:09 GMT -6
Damn, they done been caught by them-there wild Haters! Woe is them. Not!
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Post by texican on Dec 2, 2019 23:52:23 GMT -6
I was wondering when the Natives would show up The movement of a shadow in the corner of his eye distracted him. He looked over to see a foot. His eyes followed the leg upward until he saw an arrowhead aimed at his face. Behind the arrowhead were fingers holding a taut bowstring. Above the fingers, the eye of a young woman stared a hole through him.
“Daddy!” shouted the young woman. “We’ve got trouble!”And the first native is female with a taut bow.... Thanks mic for the chapter.... Texican...
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Post by mic on Dec 4, 2019 15:26:04 GMT -6
Chapter 8 – Captured (part 1)
Ford stared at the arrowhead less than a meter from his nose. “Um…guys?”
“We know,” said Owen.
Ford glanced to his left. A man stood with his bow drawn, a meter away from Owen. Another man stood over Bozeman with a spear held high, poised to be hurled.
There are people out here? They’re not city people. They’ve got weapons. A shudder ran across Ford’s shoulders. Had they fallen into the hands of Haters? City officials said the last of them were eliminated decades ago. Are these people the Wisconsi?
A commotion from behind made Ford turn away from the woman with the bow. Two men pushed through the underbrush at the forest’s edge. They had Teuz between them, his wrists bound.
“We found this one hiding in the brush,” said one of the men.
“How many more of you are there?” demanded the man aiming his arrow at Owen.
“Just the four of us,” said Owen. His glance at Ford pleaded for some idea of what to do. Ford could only shrug and shake his head slightly. What could they do?
A different woman, dressed in leather pants and a gray-green shirt, emerged from the woods behind the two men who held Teuz. “They have some junk where the trail crosses the stream but no sign of any others.”
“What’s the trouble?” boomed a man’s voice. “What’s going on? Is it the Dogs again?”
“I don’t think so,” replied the young woman, her arrow still aimed at Ford. A large man loomed into view behind the young woman.
He must be the one she called to. She called him Dahdee. They use names too.
Dahdee wore leather pants, a dark olive shirt made of cloth, and an open leather vest. He wore a dark gray hat with a broad brim. His well-trimmed beard was black flecked with gray. When he saw Ford and Owen, he stopped and stared for a moment.
“City people?” He was clearly surprised and agitated at the sight of Ford. “Worse than Dogs. Must be spotters. Strip ‘em. Right now! Find their beacons.”
Beacons?
The young woman stepped a couple meters back from Ford. Two men grabbed him, unzipped his coveralls, yanked off the sleeves, and pushed him to the ground. They pulled off his boots, coverall legs, and even his underwear. Ford rolled to a half-crouch but remained on the ground, stark naked. What did they intend to do?
“Aw man,” complained Teuz in the distance. “Naked again?”
“Stand up,” grumbled one of Ford’s strippers.
Dahdee pointed to several men standing near him. “Go let the council know about this. Everyone may have to move out quickly. Post a lookout on the river. Let me know if they see or hear anything coming. Get these citiots to the river. Justin, go get Zeke. Tell him to bring his scanners.”
Several men pushed Ford and his companions through the blackberry patch. Thorns raked at their calves, thighs, and worse.
“Grab up all their clothes so Zeke can scan them,” said Dahdee. “Stacy, go get that stuff you talked about. I want it all in a single pile for Zeke. Now, march ‘em to the river. Keep your arrows on ‘em. If they make so much as a single move to run, put ‘em down.”
The men pushed Ford and his companions through a hedge. Beyond the hedge stretched a grassy expanse that sloped down to the wide river. Many hands pushed the four naked men into the water.
“Get out there until you’re up to your waists,” ordered one of the men. Others stood on the riverbank with bows drawn and spears poised. The cold water took Ford’s breath away. At first, the water stung in the many scratches in his skin. Eventually, the cold numbed the sting. Even his neck and shoulders tensed up at the shock. His bare feet sank into the soft river bottom. Unseen water-weeds tangled around his ankles, nearly tripping him. He had to help Teuz stay upright. He was still not steady on his feet.
“Who are these people?” Owen whispered. “What’s going on?”
“How should I know?” Ford complained. “Whoever they are, they sure don’t like city people.”
The woman named Stacy emerged from the hedge with her arms full of the old shelter fabric, their blankets, and clothes. She dumped them all on the grass.
“Use your Dog arrows,” said Dahdee. “If we kill ‘em, I want whoever finds ‘em floating downriver to think it was the Dogs’ doing.” The young woman and men with bows replaced their black and white striped arrows with red and yellow arrows.
“What’s going on?” asked a thin-faced man as he pushed through the hedge. He carried a green fabric bag on his back. With darting eyes, he looked at the four naked men up to their waists in the swirling water and the pile of coveralls on the bank. “Ah. City people. Think they’re a spotter party?”
“Yep,” said Dahdee. “Scan their stuff for beacons. Maybe if we find them quickly, we can bag 'em before the blackshirts can track to us.”
The thin man knelt beside the pile of fabric and boots. He propped open a big mylar bag to receive any transmitters he might find. He held a black disk up to one ear and slowly waved a black rod over the pile. Wires ran from both the disk and rod back to the backpack. The thin man pushed the clothing around as he scanned them. He found their visors and the collar remote in Teuz's pocket. He found the shock-prod, knife, and photo album in Ford's coveralls.
“No beacons in any of this,” said the thin man. “They’ve got the usual bits of city gear, but no beacons. These things here aren’t city stuff, though.” He held up Ford’s knife and the photo book for Dahdee to take.
He frowned at Ford’s knife. “City people don’t have knives; unless, maybe, they are spotters.”
“Spotters without beacons?” asked the thin man as he shook his head. “What good would that be?”
“Maybe they’re using short-range responders under their skin,” said the leader. “Check ‘em out carefully. If they are spotters, we put ‘em down and let the Dogs take the blame.” He pointed to Ford’s group. “One of you get out here, right now. Move!”
The four naked men exchanged dumbfounded glances.
Ford let out a sigh. It might as well be me first. He pushed through the muddy water being careful to lift his feet high to clear the unseen weeds. As Ford stepped a meter or so up onto the riverbank, the young woman’s arrow tracked Ford’s movement. Her eye continued to burn a hole through him.
“That’s far enough,” said the thin man. He moved the black rod up and down near Ford’s wet body. The air felt cold. Ford’s legs began to shiver. He had to clench his jaw tightly to prevent his teeth from chattering.
The thin man paused as his rod hovered over Ford’s temple. “No trackers or short-range transponders, just the usual visor chip. Those got no range.”
“Get back out there,” demanded Dahdee. “Next! Get up here. Fast!”
Each of Ford’s group took their turn being scanned on the riverbank. A crowd of other people collected on the riverbank to watch. There were men and women, young and old. Ford was fascinated to see boys and half-sized women join the group. No two of them were dressed alike, yet all wore similar shades of gray, tan, brown, or green. They murmured among themselves and pointed at the men in the river.
When it was Bozeman’s turn to get inspected, Ford got a view of his back that he had not had before. He noticed red scratches on the back of Bozeman’s neck and shoulders. The marks were much wider than the kind of scratches the blackberry thorns made. The deeper scratches had scabs. Thorns did not make those marks.
A cold shudder ran down Ford’s back as he remembered the pulp and blood under 99’s fingernails. Was 99 desperately clawing at Bozeman? Was 99 fighting back with his final breath as Bozeman choked him? Bozeman’s dislike for 99 was evident to everyone.
99 didn’t just die. Bozeman killed him.
Ford glanced at Owen and Teuz, wondering if he should tell them what he had just realized. As he tried to sort out what words to say, he began to doubt his own theory. Ford had only known Bozeman for less than a week. Would Bozeman really do that? Bozeman was prone to boast and bluster – more talk than deeds. What if 99 had simply expired from his injuries, and Bozeman's scratches were from an earlier fall? How would he know?
They were in enough trouble at the moment. Leveling an accusation that he could not prove would only turn them against each other. Standing naked in a river, with arrows aimed at them, was not a time start arguing among themselves.
Bozeman pushed his way back toward the other three men, creating a wave that splashed against their stomachs. “They didn’t find anything, of course,” he said. Bozeman’s smug grin disappeared when he noticed Ford staring at him.
“What?” Bozeman asked.
“Later,” Ford said. “If we live long enough to have a later.”
“No transponders in the last one either,” announced the thin man. “I don’t think they can be spotters.”
“We do know that they’re food thieves,” said the man who held Owen in his sights. “We caught ‘em stealing our blackberries.”
Ford could hear voices in the crowd, saying things about food thieves, penalties, or upholding rules. They shook their heads and frowned.
“We didn’t know,” shouted Ford to the crowd. “How could we know?”
His plea only seemed to anger them. They shouted back and shook fists in the air.
“Silence!” shouted Dahdee.
Another older man pushed his way through the crowd. He had a beard too, but his was solid white. He wore a hat similar to Dahdee’s except that it was tan-colored. His leather pants were a darker brown; his shirt was a pale green. The two bearded men conversed in tones too soft for Ford to make out.
Voices in the crowd were easier to understand. They demanded justice and adherence to their laws. Food thieves had to be punished. Apparently, the punishment for outsiders stealing food was death. People within the crowd argued with each other over the manner of that death.
“How could we know?” asked Owen softly.
“I said that,” said Ford. “It only made them angrier.”
The first bearded man announced to the assembled crowd, “Whether it’s Dogs or citiots, the law is the law.”
“Why?” exclaimed Ford. “We didn’t know.”
The archers pulled their bows tight. The bearded man raised his arm over his head and glanced at each of his archers. One by one, the archers nodded their readiness.
(end 8, part 1)
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smitty60
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Posts: 28
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Post by smitty60 on Dec 4, 2019 17:39:18 GMT -6
I knew it. Your middle name wouldn't be cliff would it. 😊
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Post by texican on Dec 4, 2019 18:47:44 GMT -6
Now a few hands of berries leads to execution even when you did no know the law....
Seems fair, since food is survival....
When will the questions come about how did they get there for it is important for survival....
Additional chapters required to get out of the quagmire the four are in....
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 4, 2019 21:02:45 GMT -6
How soon do we find out that somebody in the tribe is related to Ada? Or am I way off track here?
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Post by mic on Dec 5, 2019 6:50:07 GMT -6
I knew it. Your middle name wouldn't be cliff would it. 😊 Hehe. Actually, Mic "The Cliff" Roland does have a ring to it. :-) I do have a fondness for the old movie serials style. How did WHO get there? The angry natives or the city boys? Hmm. Interesting angle. Hadn't thought of that. City folk and the denizens of The Outside have lived apart for quite some time. Keep the observations and questions coming! I do appreciate the feedback for improving the story. -- Mic
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smitty60
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Post by smitty60 on Dec 5, 2019 6:51:53 GMT -6
How soon do we find out that somebody in the tribe is related to Ada? Or am I way off track here? Maybe the old man too. The videos of the haters didn't start until he saw the old man. And,the old man was sitting near her
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Post by spacecadet12364 on Dec 5, 2019 14:22:26 GMT -6
maybe Ada is from outside and sneaks in and out, to try and find those that are awoke? When she identifies one, then the old man comes in to trigger the videos. Which gets them send onto the teams outside.....
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Post by mic on Dec 5, 2019 19:15:13 GMT -6
(chapter 8, part 2)
“I didn’t steal any of your stupid food,” shouted Teuz. He pushed his way through the water until he stood in front of Ford and Owen. “Are you going to kill me too?”
“What are you doing?” gasped Ford.
“It’s not right,” Teuz said over his shoulder. “None of this is right. It’s not stealing if you couldn’t know: a mistake maybe, but not stealing. Besides, I didn’t eat anything of theirs. I didn’t break their stupid law. It’s just not right.” Teuz turned back to face the people on the shore. He stood still, though with his head somewhat turned away as if he expected an arrow to pierce him at any moment.
One of the archers lowered his bow. “He’s right. That one didn’t eat anything. We checked his hands and mouth. No stains.”
The other archers lowered their bows and looked to their leader for direction. The crowd grew quiet.
“If you’re going to kill my friends,” announced Teuz, “you’ll have to kill me first.”
“Teuz. Don’t be a fool,” said Owen. “These people are crazy.”
“I don’t think so,” said Teuz in a whisper. “The talk about laws. The fact that they don’t know what to do with me tells me they’ve got rules that control them. I don’t fit the rules.”
“Like you know their rules?” snipped Bozeman.
“Of course not. Just a hunch. I had to do something." Teuz turned to face the crowd onshore. "We are not spotters. We don’t even know what that is. We’re just workers from a marking crew. See?” Teuz pointed to his black plastic collar.
Ford could see a sudden change in the crowd’s mood. The fact that Teuz had not broken their laws confused them. Some nodded. Some shook their heads. The two bearded men exchanged words and glances at Ford and his companions. Dahdee waved to the archers onshore. They lowered their bows, easing the pull on their bowstrings but kept their arrows in place. All four naked men exhaled deeply at the same time.
“Alright, you four,” shouted Dahdee. “Get up here.” He waved his arm in a scooping motion then pointed to an expanse of short grass near the water’s edge.
“Are they going to let us live?” asked Owen.
"Or just kill us onshore,” said Bozeman.
“We don’t have much choice,” said Ford. “Come on.”
Dahdee faced the crowd. “Their fate should be a council decision, not just us. Tell the lookouts to keep their eyes and ears open. This could still be a trap of some kind.”
Ford began to shiver again. He noticed Teuz trying to cover himself with his hands without looking obvious. Owen attempted similar gestures. Bozeman stood defiant, feet apart, arms crossed over his chest.
Three more middle-aged men joined the first two. Were they the council? Each had a distinguishing difference: Dahdee had a gray hat, the second had a white beard. The three new men had, respectively, a sandy beard, a green hat, and a brown hat. In his mind, Ford gave them names to help keep track of what was going on: Dahdee, White, Sandy, Green, and Brown.
The five men stood in a loose circle and conferred together. Ford could hear them but could not always tell who was speaking.
“We can’t wait for someone from the Clark and Becker clans. Five of us are enough for a quorum. You said these men broke our food laws?”
“Yes. Caught them stealing blackberries.”
“We haven’t used the death penalty part of the food law against anyone other than Dogs in over twenty years. You said it was a few mouthfuls of blackberries? Death seems a bit extreme here,” said White, “even for city people.”
“They could still be a threat.”
“Maybe, but do we kill them because they might be a threat?” asked Green.
“You said they weren’t a spotter party. How are they a threat?”
“They’re city people!” said Dahdee. “What if the blackshirts come looking for them?”
“Well, we cannot simply kill them without adequate cause. That’s what the Dogs do, and we are not like them. Our people are watching what we do. We must be very careful to follow our laws.” White appeared to be the voice of caution.
“We have laws for dealing with Dogs, but no laws that cover the processing of city people.”
“Why would we?” countered Dahdee. “They usually die in a few days. There’s nothing to process.” “We always maintain that every person has a right to a fair hearing.”
“That’s for us, River People.” Green looked perplexed. “You’re applying it to city people, too?”
“I think so. If the right to a trial is inalienable, it should extend to them, too, shouldn’t it?”
“A trial for what? We don’t have a law that says it's illegal to simply be a city person.”
“Blackshirts are city people, and we kill them.”
“That’s different. Blackshirts hunt us. That’s self-defense.”
“These aren’t blackshirts.”
“Fine. Three of them broke our law by stealing food.”
“So, we kill them?”
“Why not?”
“We’re talking in circles here.”
Ford leaned over slightly and whispered to Owen. “This isn’t going too well.”
Green rubbed his chin. “Say we do kill those three for thievery because there was a clear violation of the law. What do you do with the fourth one?”
Silence reigned in the circle. The men stared at the ground or ran their fingers through their beards.
“He’s a citiot. I say we just let him go, maybe put him across the river. The Dogs will finish him or he’ll starve to death out there in a few days. Problem solved.”
“We can’t risk it. Somehow, someone from The City might find him before he died and save him. He’s seen too much about us already.”
Teuz leaned closer to Ford. “What if I promise not to tell anyone?” Ford shushed him.
Dahdee continued. “We can’t afford a major move of all our peoples now. The crops need tending if they’re going to produce well for harvest.”
“What if we consider that fourth one a prisoner of war?”
“What war?”
“Don’t quibble. We captured them, didn’t we? That makes them prisoners. How are they any different than a Dog raiding party? We’ve been in a constant state of war with the Prairie Dogs since before I was born. The City has been trying to exterminate us for far longer. That qualifies as a war to me.”
“Our little jail is already full of criminal prisoners from that last raid.”
“So, treat him as a non-criminal prisoner.”
"You mean, keep that fourth one as a slave?”
“Why not?”
Teuz’s eyes grew wide. He whispered to Ford. “A slave? That’s worse than death. Slaves are beaten every day and made to do terrible work like carrying heavy buckets of human feces. Worse, they starved slaves! I don’t want to starve!”
“Don’t be silly.” Ford impatiently waved off Teuz to quiet him. He wanted to hear more. Every schoolboy was taught that Haters kept slaves. It was one of their defining hallmarks along with their cruelty to animals, ruining nature, and abuse of women. Perhaps these people were a remnant of The Haters. If so, it would seem that city officials were mistaken in claiming they had wiped them all out.
“Putting down the other three might satisfy the crowd, but it won’t look good to our people," said White in tones almost too soft to hear. “Things have cooled off too much. There’s no hiding behind the heat of the moment. Killing them now would be capricious since we’ve not used the death penalty for outsiders breaking the food laws in so long.”
“We can’t just let them go. Neither can we just ignore the law. It still needs to apply to everyone. Besides, our crops have always been a life-and-death matter for our people. They expect to see some punishment.”
“What if we make all four of them slaves?” offered Green.
“Them?” objected one of the councilmen. “They’re citiots. Who would take them? At least Dog prisoners can work. A day’s work will kill these saplings.”
“Wouldn’t that solve our problem?”
“Whether the work kills them or not, being assigned as slaves would satisfy the law,” said White. “The question remains: will anyone want them?”
Ford was relieved that he would not be killed outright but upset at the prospect of being held by these people. The possibility of being beaten and starved did not bother him. He chafed at being delayed in getting back to The City and Ada. Things were not going his way at all.
The five councilmen formed a line that faced the crowd. “We have decided,” announced White, “that death is not called for here.”
“But they stole food!” shouted someone in the crowd.
“True,” continued White. “They must pay for their crime. We have decided that they will be considered as prisoners of war and will become slaves. We will convene a Disposition right here and now.”
“Excuse me?” Ford said out loud. “Could we have our clothes? It’s really cold standing here like this.”
White frowned at the interruption but waved to a pair of young men for them to bring Ford and his companions their clothes. While the four dressed, the deliberations continued.
“I now open this Disposition. Who would take one of these young men as a slave?” asked White. “The first to lay claim gets first choice.”
People in the crowd stared at the four with varying degrees of scowls and skepticism.
“What good are they?” one woman whined. “They won’t be able to do a day’s work.”
“Yeah,” added a man nearby. “They’d just eat my food, and I’d get nothing. I don’t want any of ‘em.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“This isn’t going well either,” Ford whispered. “Being a slave might be bad enough, but if no one takes us as slaves, they might start thinking again about killing us.”
“What can we do?” Teuz asked.
“Maybe we have to talk like those promotional videos for box meals – you know, how great they are even if they’re not that great – except about ourselves,” offered Owen.
Ford agreed. “Listen,” he said toward the crowd. “We can work. We were on a marking crew, working long days on very little food.”
Teuz elbowed Ford. “Don’t say that. They won’t feed us.”
“Too late. It’s out there,” Ford whispered back.
“They still have their shock collars on,” observed a tall woman. “Could we use those to keep them in line?” Her idea elicited several nods among the people.
Zeke stepped forward. “They had one remote with them. I have a few more that I could charge up.”
“That would be better,” said the tall woman. “We have to keep our Dog slave tied down. The collar would be easier.”
“If I can have a remote to control him, I’ll take that one.” A stocky man in a pale leather vest pointed at Bozeman.
“Keep in mind,” cautioned White, “You’ve got to abide by all the slave laws. We’re not uncivilized Dogs.”
“Yes, yes.” The stocky man sounded slightly annoyed at the reminder. “I’ll feed him the same food as family. We need help in the pits.”
“Feces pits?” gasped Teuz, his eyes wide in horror.
Ford shushed him again. A man led Bozeman over to the man in the vest and pushed him into a sitting position at the man’s feet.
“I’ll take that one.” The tall woman pointed at Teuz. “He’s weak and flabby, but at least he's not a criminal.”
“Great, great,” said White. “Just these two left.
Ford and Owen stood facing the crowd of silent faces that stared back at them.
“Anyone? Anyone?” asked White. "Oh, come on. They said they worked. They can do something, even if it’s just to watch your livestock. We can’t leave these two undisposed.”
“They look too skinny and weak,” said someone in the back.
“Waste of time,” said another.
“I don’t have food to waste on worthless bodies.”
“You,” White pointed to Owen. “What did you do in The City?”
“Me? I, uh…” Owen glanced back at Ford as if expecting advice on what to say. He received only a shrug. “I worked in the Data Storage Division of the Department of Information.”
“That means nothing,” said White impatiently. “Doing what? What work did you do?”
“Oh, uh. My job was to tag people in videos that the facial recognition algorithms couldn’t resolve. They were usually lower-level officials who didn’t face the camera’s well enough or had odd shadows. Once tagged, the file could go to archives and...”
“Archives, huh,” mused White. “Julius,” White addressed Green. “You’ve been complaining about being shorthanded for organizing the library’s new material.”
“Yeah, but…”
“What ‘but?’ This one is trained to think about archive things. Do you want the help or not?”
Green scrunched up his face and looked away before facing forward. “Can’t. He’d see where we keep it all.”
“Put a bag over his head for the trip in,” countered White. “Take off the bag inside. He’ll have no idea where he is. Good enough. Deal done. You.” White pointed at Owen. “Go sit over here in front of Mr. Harris.”
That one has two names? Julius-Misterarris? What kinds of names are these?
Mr. Harris shook his head in disapproval and resignation but did not object.
“Well?” White addressed the crowd. “Just this one left. Who will take in this willing worker? He said he worked with the salvagers. Got to be worth a few hours of work.”
Ford stood before the crowd alone. They stared back at him.
This is embarrassing.
“I don’t trust city people,” someone said.
“Not worth it,” said another.
“Okay, fine,” said White. “We don’t have all day. Ben, I’m giving this one to you.”
Dahdee spun around. “What?”
“Daddy, no!” exclaimed the young woman with the bow. “Not in our house.”
Without the point of an arrowhead to distract him, Ford got a better look at the woman with the bow. She was young, perhaps Ford’s age. He had not seen enough variety of women to be any good at estimating age. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a single loose ponytail. The tight leather pants made her look more full at the hips than he expected. City women dressed in loose and baggy robes. Their shapes within the loose garments were always obscured.
“Don’t try to argue with me, Ben,” said White. “I know you’re shorthanded these days after that Dog raid a couple months ago. You need help around your place. Here it is. Go sit over here, young man." White pointed at Ford and then a patch of grass in front of Ben’s feet.
He has two names too? Ben-Dahdee?
The young woman marched over to Ben-Dahdee. She brushed several long strands of hair out of her eyes and hissed between clenched teeth about how they did not need that kind of help at home and certainly not by some worthless city trash. Her green-gray eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows scrunched down as she glared at Ford.
Ford tried to smile, but she frowned deeper.
"Okay, everyone," said White. "Back to your chores. The day’s well past. Still much to do.” The crowd turned in twos and threes to disperse through the hedge.
Teuz, Owen, and Bozeman exchanged glances with Ford as they were led away by their new owners. Would they see each other again?
The thin man, Zeke, approached Ford. “Last four digits of your number? Got to program a remote for your collar.”
The young woman continued to scowl her disapproval at Ford.
"Come on, come on. I don't have all day. Last four of your number, or I’ll just blanket shock you until you tell me.”
“0840.”
“That’s better,” said Zeke. He fiddled with the remote, pressing the unlabeled buttons in a sequence that made no sense to Ford.
“Here you go.” Zeke handed the remote to Ben. “Press these two, then that one to activate. These two tick up or down the setting. It’s on three now.”
“Try it now,” said the young woman. “Make sure it works.”
“You don’t have to,” said Ford. “I know all too well how they work.” He knew that there was no point in resisting. “I’ll come quietly and won’t make any trouble.” Ford figured that making trouble would get him tied up or confined, reducing any opportunities to escape.
“Thank you, Zeke,” said Ben. He studied Ford for a long moment, then the remote.
“That way.” Ben made eye contact with Ford and pointed toward the hedge.
Ford looked at the photo album and knife in Ben’s hands. “You’re keeping those too?”
“I’m keeping them, yes. Now, get walking.” Ben waved the remote for visual emphasis.
The woman led the way through the hedge and up the wide path. They turned right at an intersecting track and proceeded up a gentle slope. Ford walked second, followed by Ben. As they followed the winding dirt ribbon, Ford's mind chased down mental rabbit trails. Where were they taking him? Where were the others being taken? Would he find an opportunity to escape? Could they? If he did get free and they did not, could he build a raft alone? How long would it take to get back to The City?
His thoughts were interrupted by the young woman’s backside. Given her tight leather pants, he noticed that her backside swayed side-to-side and bounced a little with each of her steps. Did everyone’s bottom swing like that when they walked? Did his? He turned to try and look at his own backside as he walked. It was impossible to tell.
Perhaps he had not noticed any swaying and bouncing before because people in the city tended to take slower, shuffling steps, not purposeful strides like the young woman. Perhaps it was the baggy clothing city people wore that concealed any movements like that.
She stopped suddenly and spun to face Ford. “What are you staring at?” she snapped.
Ford looked up. “What?”
“Daddy, I am not walking in front of this creep. He’s leering at me.”
“Oh, Cassie. Citiots don’t leer. They’ve had that sort of thing bred out of them. From the looks of him, he’s probably their third generation. He has no idea.
“I know leering when I see it.”
“What’s leering?” Ford asked. Whatever it was, it clearly upset this Cassie.
“Ya see?” said Ben. “He has no idea.”
She frowned and folded her arms across her chest. Without the distraction of a razor-sharp broadhead aimed at his face, Ford’s mind was free to notice details of his captors. Her chest appeared somewhat wide or full compared to her thin waist. She did not have a simple, straight-line body like everyone in The City. Did she have a health condition that caused such swelling? Was that the reason she was so angry?
“Agh! He’s doing it again!” Her eyes flashed like the Hater demons in Hall of Heroes as she jabbed an accusing finger toward Ford.
Ford tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He was getting in deep trouble but had no idea how he had done it.
“Fine, fine,” said Ben. "I'll walk in front, and you can keep an eye on him. Here's the remote."
The young women snatched the remote with a sudden and disquieting grin.
“But,” cautioned Ben with one upraised finger. “Do not press the buttons unless I say so. And no, I won’t believe it was an accident.” Her scowl returned.
(end part 2)
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 5, 2019 20:13:47 GMT -6
I'm bettin' that that normally sure-footed girl's gonna stumble once or twice and land with her thumb hittin' the right buttons in the right order.
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Post by texican on Dec 6, 2019 13:12:35 GMT -6
Ford in a family with a pretty young lady....
Lots to learn....
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by mic on Dec 6, 2019 18:22:39 GMT -6
(chapter 8, part 3)
When they resumed walking, Ford noticed that Ben’s bottom did not sway or bounce. Maybe it was only the woman with the health condition. Ben was taking different sorts of steps than Cassie: putting his toes down first and then his heels. Was that the difference?
As they rounded a gentle bend in the path, more people and huts came into view. The huts were positioned beneath trees. Some of the structures were larger or longer than others. Still, all were constructed of bent wooden hoops and stretched fabric that was colored in various mottled shades of green. Irregular patches of leafy material lie draped over the tops of the huts.
Along the path and in front of the huts, people carried bundles or pulled on ropes tied to animals. Old men with white hair worked with tools on wooden things. Young men with bare, muscular arms carried bundles of slender tree trunks. Young women held baskets full of green, leafy things. Old women sat in front of the huts fiddling with fluff on sticks.
As Ford walked through the village, people stopped whatever they were doing and stared silently as he passed. Ford realized that he was staring at them with equal curiosity. Who were these people? How could there be so many of them? The faces of young boys and half-sized women pushed between adults to get a look at the new stranger.
Ben, Ford, and Cassie turned to walk up a narrow path between two huts. A similar shelter sat behind an extensive garden. As they approached, a middle-aged woman rushed out of the door. Was she the one in charge? She had dark hair streaked with gray, pulled back, and a face that resembled the younger woman though with fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her loose shirt was the same dark olive color as the shirts Ben and Cassie wore. She held her arms open until she came up to Ben. She clasped one of his arms, stroked the other with her other hand, and put her mouth on his cheek.
She touched him. Ford glanced from face to face. No one seemed to react to the touching.
“Benjamin! You’re late. I heard there was some sort of trouble down by the river and…oh-my-god what’s that?” The older woman pointed at Ford.
He has three names? Ben-Jammin-Dahdee? Wouldn’t that get confusing?
“That, my dear Rachel, is rather a long story,” began Ben. He lifted his hat and rubbed his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “The short answer is that he’s our new slave. Eli gave him to us.”
“Our what?” Rachel continued to stare at Ford skeptically.
“I told him we do not need another slave,” said Cassie. “Especially not that one. I don’t like him at all.”
“Now, Cassie. Eli is right. We’ve been shorthanded ever since… Well, we've all been working long hours, and we’re getting behind. We could use some help.”
Cassie threw up her arms in frustration. “Whatever. I’ll have nothing to do with that one. He’s your problem, not mine.” She tossed the remote at Ben and stomped into the house.
“Another slave?” Rachel asked no one in particular. "What will we do with him? We have our hands full keeping watch on the one we have."
“This one comes with a shock collar.” Ben held up the remote. “We should be able to watch them both without much more effort. There’s room in the pen. Keep ‘em both tied up at night. We can sort it out better tomorrow.”
“I don’t know…” Rachel furrowed her forehead.
“Well, we’ve got him anyhow. Might as well put him to use.”
“Doing what? Look at him.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked Ford up and down.
“Don’t let the baggy city clothes throw you. I’ve seen him naked…”
“You what?”
Ben winced and tried to erase his words with rapid waves of his hand. “Never mind. I’ll tell you the whole story later. My point is that I could see he has a little meat on his bones. We can get some work out of him.”
Ford felt strange being discussed as if he were a piece of machinery. What sort of work did they do that could kill a man?
Rachel’s shoulders relaxed with a long sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I hope so too. I’ll go put him in the pen with the other one. I’ll be in for supper shortly.”
At first, Ford imagined that Rachel was the person in charge of whatever group he had been assigned too. She did not act like a manager or a director. Was Ben the manager?
Ben pointed to a ragged line of sharp sticks jutting up from the ground. "That way. You'll sleep over there. Go on.”
Ford followed a narrow dirt path through long grass. Ben opened a gap in the fence and motioned for Ford to go through. Inside, the grass was much shorter. The air smelled faintly acrid, musty, and odd. Several plump birds scurried away as he and Ben approached a small hut made of wooden hoops, covered with patches of bark.
“This here’s the pen,” said Ben. He pointed to the doorway. “Chickens sleep on that side. You and the other one sleep on the other side.”
It took a moment or two for Ford’s eyes to adjust to the darker interior of the pen. The air smelled dusty and faintly pungent. In the corner sat a man with shaggy hair and an unkempt beard. He was barefoot, dressed in leather pants, and a coarse fabric vest edged in red yarn. His ankle was chained to a tree that formed one corner of the pen structure.
“Are you done?” Ben asked the shaggy man.
The shaggy man glared at Ben as he silently pushed a basket of grain into the center of the room. He then slid a basket of corncobs forward as well.
“Good.” Ben set the two baskets near the doorway. "You've got a roommate now. Behave yourself, unless you want to hug the post."
The shaggy man's eyes narrowed. Ben motioned for Ford to sit at the base of a tree that formed the adjacent corner. He took a chain down from the sapling rafters, clipped it around the tree, and locked a metal ring around Ford’s ankle.
“I’ll be back later. You two behave.” Ben turned and left.
The shaggy man scowled at Ford, looking him up and down, left and right.
Oh great. How could this day go any more wrong? Ford tugged at the chain. It felt sturdy. The ring was far too small to slip out his foot. How will I ever get to The City now?
The sound of rapid footsteps on sod caught Ford’s attention. Suddenly, two faces appeared in the pen’s open doorway. One face belonged to a very young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. He had a square jaw like Ben’s. The other face belonged to a young woman. She looked younger than Cassie but older than the boy. She had the same long dark hair, round face, and full lips as Cassie and Rachel.
“See? I told you,” said the young woman. “Just like mama said.”
“Whoa. I’ve never seen one alive.”
“He’s not as scruffy and dirty as our other one,” she said with a glance at the shaggy man. He growled quietly.
“Yeah, well, Matthew said he’ll be dead in two days.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The young woman tilted her head as she regarded Ford. “He doesn’t look that bad to me.”
“Hey, you two. Back to your chores,” boomed Ben’s voice. The faces disappeared. The silhouette of Ben filled the open doorway. He held a bundle under one arm and a basket in the other.
Ben knelt to unlock Ford’s ankle. “Here, change into these. Can’t have you looking so obvious. You can keep your boots.”
Ford wondered if he should bolt and run while his ankle was unlocked. He glanced around quickly. There was only one door. He imagined running down through the village and out to the river. He would swim across, hoping that he would either be out of range of any remotes or that the water might disable the collar.
For a moment, Ford’s eyes and the shaggy man’s eyes met. Where was the remote? A glance at Ben’s hand revealed that he had his thumb on the remote’s big button. Ford knew he would not get three steps away.
With a deflating sigh, Ford sat limp. He had no choice but to accept his fate for the time being. He took off his coveralls and pulled apart the bundle. There was a shirt of the same dark olive color as what Ben and the others wore. The fabric was coarser, however. The separate pants were made of a similar coarse material but of a pale brown color.
“Supper soon,” said Ben as he relocked Ford’s chain. “Work begins tomorrow for you.” Ben took Ford’s coveralls and left.
Ford looked around at his confinement. Dry grass partially covered the dirt floor. The walls were made of saplings tied together in a square pattern. Slabs of tree bark made up the siding. Little points of light shown like stars through the bark. At the far end of the room, two sturdy branches had been tied to span between the walls. One of the big round birds sat on one of the branches. It quietly stared back at him. Ford's eye continued around the room until it landed on his fellow prisoner. He, too, silently stared at Ford.
“You had your chance,” said the shaggy man. “Shoulda run.”
“No.” Ford shook his head. “He had his thumb on the button. Shock collar.” Ford pointed to the black plastic collar. “I wouldn’t have made it out the door.”
"Hmm. That explains it. Didn't think you looked like a River Rat, and you sure as heck ain't Big Sky. What's a city pansy doing out here that the Rats captured you?
“It’s a long story.” Ford did not feel like recounting his trail of misfortune.
“I could see your eyes working back then,” said the shaggy man. “You wanted to escape, didn’t ya? I could see it in your eyes.”
“Yeah. I thought about it.”
“Still want to?”
“Of course,” said Ford.
"Me too. Now that there are two of us, we have a chance. That makes us friends now, don’t it? Name's Jasper. I'd shake your hand, but, you know, you're outta reach. I ain’t Rat. I’m Big Sky.”
“My name is Ford.”
“Thought pansies only had numbers. How’d you get a name?”
“I gave it to myself. You have two names? Jasper and Big Sky?” asked Ford. “Does everyone out here have multiple names?”
“Ah, I suppose you don’t know nothing about the Outside. My name’s Jasper. Big Sky are my people. We live across the river, out in the prairie – Big Sky Country. Hunt the buff, deer, and elk from north of the Missouri all the way up to Saskatch. Live free.”
"Then, why are you here?"
“Ah. Misfortune. A party of us were getting even with the Rats a couple months ago when stuff went wrong, and I got nabbed. We kicked 'em pretty good, but a few of us didn't make it back across the river in time. That’s how I ended up here.” Jasper held up his ankle chain.
“What happens now?” Ford asked. “What happens to slaves?”
“Shh. Shh,” whispered Jasper. “The big Rat’s coming.” Jasper scooted back into his corner.
Ben’s silhouette filled the doorway. “I brought you some supper. You’re probably half-starved.” He set two baskets on the floor. With his foot, he pushed one within reach of Ford, the other to Jasper. He also set down a wide earthenware pot with a lid and pushed it toward Ford. A dozen chickens rushed in after Ben departed and clamored around the baskets. A crude door of crisscrossed saplings closed over the pen’s opening.
“Go on. Shoo!” Jasper flailed his hands in wide arcs. The chickens squawked and flapped as they scattered.
Ford pulled his basket closer to himself. The chickens stayed a meter away from him, wary, but eager to get what was in the basket. Ford watched Jasper raise one hinged lid of his basket and pull out a thin yellow disk larger than his hand. He quickly rolled it into a tube and began tearing at it with his teeth. With his other hand, he flailed away a pair of bold chickens.
That must be food. Ford's basket contained a yellow disk, too. It was still warm. There was also a strip of something brown and a gray earthenware cup with a cover. Ford duplicated Jasper's moves, rolling the brown strip inside the yellow disk. As he raised it to his mouth to take a bite, several chickens moved closer, ready to peck at the exposed end of the yellow tube.
“Push ‘em back. Don’t let ‘em get any,” said Jasper with his mouth full. “You’ll never get a moment’s peace if you let ‘em steal from you.”
“Hey!” Ford raised his arm to keep his food out of reach of the birds. "Go away. This is mine." He copied Jasper's flailing. The greedy birds flapped away but kept their distance. They paced back and forth, just out of arm’s reach, their eyes fixed on the yellow tube. A couple of them clucked in what sounded like whiny tones.
“Oh, man. This is delicious!” announced Ford. He had never eaten anything like it before: so much flavor! It was mellow and salty and had a hint of a smoky flavor. He bit off more before he was done chewing the previous bite.
Jasper snorted as he loudly sipped water from his gray cup. “It’s just a corn cake and a strip of jerky. Nothing special.”
“Special to me. I haven’t eaten this much in days.”
The afternoon faded into evening. The chickens gave up waiting for any corn cake crumbs. Jasper and Ford had picked up every morsel off their clothing or the ground. The disgruntled hens flew up on the roost branches, squawking and pecking at each other in quarrels over which of them would get the best roosting spots.
“Night’s coming,” said Jasper. “Better use your pot before it’s too dark to see.”
Before Ford could ask what “using the pot” meant, Jasper stood up enough to pull down his pants. He sat on his earthenware pot and let out a satisfied moan. From the smell, Ford knew what he had done. That answered a question Ford had not thought to ask. Having not eaten much of anything for days, he had no solids to get rid of. He did have some pee.
“Cover up good, my new friend Ford,” said Jasper. “It might be summer, but nights still get cool.”
(end chapter 8)
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Post by mic on Dec 7, 2019 16:03:21 GMT -6
Chapter 9 – Work Like A Dog (part 1)
“Psst. Hey. Hey, Ford. Wake up,” whispered Jasper.
“Huh?” Ford’s eyes blinked slowly as his mind stumbled toward the light.
“Wake up. The big Rat will be coming soon. This will be your chance.”
“My chance?” Ford yawned and sat up, scratching his neck, shoulders, and face. After several days away from a hygiene closet, he was starting to grow an itchy stubble on his chin. The clucking of the chickens reminded him of his plight. He just slept in an animal pen, a prisoner, and a slave.
“Yeah. The chickens are getting down to wait by the door,” began Jasper. “That means they heard the big Rat coming to let them out. He’ll be unlocking us to move us to the work yard. You’ll get another chance.”
“You mean to escape?”
“Exactly. Listen quick. This is my plan. He’ll probably unlock you first. When he does, you jump up all sudden-like to make him fall toward me. I’ll grab him and hold on. He keeps a knife strapped to his right ankle. Grab that and stab him in the heart. You have to move fast, though, so he can’t hit your remote or cry out and alert anyone.”
“Stab him?” Ford had killed that big cat by stabbing it in the neck, but that was different. It was trying to kill him. Could he stab a person who was not attacking him? Up to that point, Ford had pictured his escape to look more like sneaking away in the night or running through the woods, not killing someone.
“Yes. Got to be fast,” said Jasper. “Then you get the key from his dead hand and unlock me too. We run away to freedom before anyone is the wiser.” Jasper chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
“But…”
Jasper shushed Ford. They could hear the crunch of footsteps on the path. Ben’s silhouette appeared after the door swung away, and the chickens rushed out around his legs. Ford caught Jasper’s eyes. He nodded and grinned.
To both prisoners’ surprise, the two young people entered behind Ben. Jasper’s plan had not included them. Ford enquired with his eyes. Jasper recovered from his own shock, then subtly gestured three stabbing motions into his open hand.
He expects me to kill all three of them? Ford swallowed hard as he looked at each of the three. He had no feelings about Ben one way or the other, but also no animosity. He was not sure he could kill him. The two younger ones? The boy reminded him of his schoolmates. He could not kill a schoolmate. The young woman? Ford’s innermost being shrank away in horror at the thought of harming her.
“Do I have to?” whined the young woman.
See? She doesn’t want to,” said the boy. “I’ll do it.”
“No," said Ben. "She's seventeen, and you're thirteen. She has to be the responsible one."
“Go on, Ivy,” said Ben. “Mother can’t stay out there with you. I’m trusting you with the remote. You need to know how it works.”
She took the remote reluctantly, holding it away from herself as if it caused stains.
“I’m sorry about this,” Ben said to Ford. “She needs to see that it works.”
“No, no.” Ford shook his head and raised his hands. “You don’t have to. I’ll behave. Really. I will.”
“I believe you,” said Ben, “but this is important. She needs to see it. Go on, Ivy. Just like I showed you.”
“Really. No. You don’t have to,” repeated Ford.
Ben gave Ivy a stern look. She let out a tragic sigh, closed her eyes, and pressed three buttons in sequence.
Ford's back arched as a searing pain shot from his neck to his tailbone. His arms fell limp at his side as he toppled onto his back amid the straw. After a few moments, when he was able to breathe again, and the tingling subsided, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Ivy stared at him with wide eyes and her hand over her open mouth.
"That's what happens," said Ben gravely. "You don't have to be afraid if mother or I aren't in the yard with you. You'll have the remote, and that is what it can do. Do you understand?” He looked at both Ivy and the boy. Both nodded slowly.
"Alright. Since you're the new one here," Ben said to Ford. "Your first job in the day is to empty and clean the pots.” Ben cast an eye at Ford’s chamber pot. “Nathan and Ivy will show you what to do. Go on now. Take both pots with you.”
Ford stood on unsteady legs. Ben had unlocked his chain while he was paralyzed. The young boy, Nathan, led him out of the pen. Ivy followed with the remote held in front of her at arm’s length. Nathan led them to what looked like a dense thicket. Lifting a latticework cover of saplings, Ford could see that it concealed one of several bins. The left-most bin was half full of straw.
“We’re using this bin for now. First, you pull back the straw with this stick,” said Nathan. He demonstrated. Beneath the layer of straw sat a brown and gooey mass. “Dump the pots in the middle. Go on. Dump one, then the other. You can do ours after that.” He pointed to a line of four earthenware pots sitting nearby.
Ford tipped in Jasper’s pot first, dumping both solids and liquids onto the pile. He squinted his eyes and looked away as a waft of acrid smell hit him in the face.
I was too quick to scoff at Teuz about buckets of feces.
“Rake the straw back over the pile,” said Nathan, “and add some more straw if you can still see brown. Yeah, like that. Okay, then you have to rinse the pots. The water is in here.” Nathan pointed to a wooden barrel. A wooden ladle hung on the side. “Scrub them clean with this brush. Can’t leave any brown streaks or anything inside. Pour the rinse water over the straw. Then, set the clean pots in a line over there. Understand?”
Ford nodded. It was not hard work, but the smell almost made him gag. Teuz was right. How did he know?
“You’ll do that every morning, first thing,” said Nathan. He leaned closer to Ford and whispered. “Look, I know it’s bad. This was my job before we got that Dog, and now you. Sure, it stinks, but somebody’s got to do it.”
“We need to get back to the yard,” said Ivy. She held the remote up at shoulder level. She tried to look menacing.
Ford took a position in the middle of a grassy yard beyond the chicken’s pen. Jasper’s chain was already locked around a tree. The bark around the base of the tree had been rubbed smooth. Ben motioned for Ford to stand in a particular spot. With a point and a glance, he instructed Ivy to keep her fingers on the remote.
“Not your fault, my new friend Ford,” whispered Jasper. “Not your fault. They’re treacherous, these Rats. We’ll get our chance. You’ll see. You can get even with them then.”
Ben walked over to what looked like a dead tree that had lost all its upper branches. He laid the Y-shaped section of trunk down on the ground and pushed a wide board, perhaps a meter long, into a slot at the junction of the Y. The trunk formed a wide base to support the upright board. It made no sense to Ford.
Ben lifted the remaining section of the dead tree trunk. It was a little over a meter long and a bit under a half meter in diameter. He pulled two legs out of one end and two more legs out of the other end. He stood the section of the trunk on its legs. He motioned for Ford to stand beside the log-on-legs.
“This here is our flax break,” Ben said. He lifted one end of the log. The upper third of the log was hinged at one end like a long lid. The log was actually hollow – just a bark-covered wooden tube. The upper, movable part of the tube concealed two boards that ran the length of the moveable section. The bottom portion had three boards. The two upper boards fit between three parallel boards when the cover was closed.
“You’re going to be breaking flax today.”
Ford lifted the handle of the break and studied the device. He was fascinated that it all folded up to look like nothing more than a dead tree. What does breaking flax mean?
While he wondered, Ben set a stone disk on several boards laid on the grass near Jasper. Apparently, Jasper was going to do some other task, not flax. Atop the first disk, he set a second stone disk. This one had a larger hole in the center and a smaller hole near the rim. Next to Jasper, he set a crooked and barkless branch into a socket between several stones. A long piece of wood connected the twisted branch to a peg in the upper disk’s smaller hole.
None of it made any sense to Ford, but Jasper seemed to know what to do. He began to turn the crooked branch in a circular motion. The long piece of wood then made the upper stone disk rotate atop the bottom disk. Nathan knelt down and poured grain into the central hole of the top disk when the wooden crank arm was out of the way. Once some fine yellow powder began to sift out from between the stone disks, Nathan walked back to their hut.
“This is a hank of flax,” Ben interrupted Ford’s interest in the disks. “We grow it down on the meadow and use the fibers to make our clothes – like that shirt and pants you’re wearing.”
He held a length of dried plant stalks about as long as a man’s leg. Holding the stiff stalks in the middle, he raised the device's handle, laid the stems across the lower boards, and repeatedly swung the upper boards down onto them. Crunch, crunch, crunch. The flax break acted like a massive pair of dull wooden scissors that only bent things instead of cutting them. Ben lifted the handle higher, repositioned the mangled fibers, and repeated the process. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
“You keep doing just like this until it’s soft,” Ben said. “This breaks up the hard outer husk. Shake it like this now and then to shake out the chaff. You should move your hand back a bit, so it all gets broke, but don’t let go. It keeps the fibers in line with each other. That’s important. Turn the hank around and break the other end too – even the roots.”
Ben made sure to catch Ford’s eye. “Make sure you’re doing it right. There are smellier and messier chores to tend to if you can’t do this.”
Ford nodded. He was already assigned to wash out the night-soil pots. Whatever was worse, he did not want to be doing it. Breaking flax was clean and dry.
“When your hank feels flexible, no stiff parts left, like this, you lay it across this rail.” Ben pointed to a thin wooden rail that Ivy had placed atop two posts. “Ivy will take them from there. Do you understand? Questions?”
Ford shook his head, more to mean that he had no idea what questions to ask than that he understood. Other than following Ben’s example, he had no idea what he was doing. How could he have questions?
“Good. I’ve got to work in the field today. Don’t make any trouble, or Ivy will lay you out, and when I hear about it, you'll hug the post. Understand?"
Ford nodded again, even if he had no idea what hugging the post meant. From Ben’s tone, it was not good.
Ben walked to the edge of the yard, picked up a tool with a long wooden handle, and slung a green cloth bag over one shoulder. He disappeared around the corner of a hut. Everyone remaining in the yard looked at each other for several silent moments.
“Go on. Get started,” said Ivy in a forced gruff tone. She waved the remote at him.
Ford began crunching the stalks of flax. He mimicked Ben's motions, starting the crunching near his hand and pulling the hank of stems back a little with each down-stroke. It took more effort than he thought.
After a few passes, the handful of stalks had been reduced to soft fluff. He laid the limp hank of fibers over the thin rail. Ivy nodded her approval and took the fibers. She draped them over the end of the vertical board Ben provided. She beat the flax with a thin wooden blade. Chop, chop…chop, chop. Tiny bits of chaff and torn fiber floated in the air.
“Keep doing more,” said Ivy. “I’ll be done with this one soon.”
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Ford broke more flax, shook out the stem fragments, and laid the softened hank over the rail. In occasional glances, he noticed that Ivy held the remote and the length of fibers with the same hand. The remote sat deep in her palm in much the same way one might carry a wrench and still have thumb and two fingers free for some other task. She could not get her fingers on the buttons quickly.
How far could he run before she could get to the buttons? She seemed a little flustered at being entrusted with the remote. Maybe she would be too surprised to respond quickly if he ran. He had heard that the remotes and collars had a limited range though he had never heard just what that was.
If I do run and get out of range, then what? He only knew of the one path through the village. If he ran through the village, would someone stop him? If no one stopped him and he got to the river, would he try to swim? How far could he swim? Would a crowd of villagers pursue him? There were too many questions and no answers satisfying enough to act upon.
He tried not to be obvious about keeping an eye on Ivy’s hand and the remote. Her grip was not particularly firm. If she dropped it and it fell far from her, he might be able to get to it before she could. If it fell near her, he could wrestle it away from her.
He looked her up and down to size up a potential opponent. She seemed slender within her loose leather pants and olive shirt. Ivy seemed to suffer from the same sort of health problem that Cassie did, though Ivy’s swelling was not as pronounced. Ford was reasonably sure he could overpower her and get the remote.
Ivy stopped beating the flax. Ford realized he had been staring at her.
“You’re not doing anything,” said Ivy. Her cheeks blushed for a moment.
“Oh, sorry.” His searching for opportunities was too obvious. Ford operated the flax break in rapid strokes. Cruncha, crunch, ka-runch.
His mind wandered again. Even if he did get the remote away from her, the two of them would sound the alarm. He would have to run and hope no one caught him. Going through the village, someone might grab him. Running through the woods would be slower. Someone could intercept him. If they found him, would he be chained inside the pen all day every day? How would he escape then? What was ‘hugging the post?’ There were no easy paths. He decided that he should not act impulsively. He should try to escape when success was more assured. His mind passed the time searching for alternatives. Crunch…crunch.
Ford cast an eye at Jasper, slowly turning the wooden crank. Did Jasper have any other ideas for escape that did not involve killing people? After Nathan poured more grain into the upper stone’s hole, he would look away while he scooped the cornmeal into a fabric bag. Jasper would turn the crank slower. Nathan had to repeatedly tell Jasper to turn the crank faster. Ford could see loathing in Jasper’s expression.
The older woman, Rachel, appeared from around the corner of their hut. She carried a large basket in her arms.
“Breakfast!” announced Rachel. Nathan dropped what he was doing and rushed to the basket. Ivy backed away, her hand firmly on the remote. Rachel handed out corn cakes but admonished the youngsters to feed their slaves first before eating. Nathan brought a corn cake to Jasper, holding it out at arm’s length for the scraggly man to grab. Ivy brought a corn cake to Ford. She, too, held it out at arm’s length.
“Thank you,” said Ford as he gently took the yellow roll. The two looked at each other for a long and awkward moment.
“It’s got a strip of fruit leather inside,” Ivy said. “Mama cooks the breakfast cakes with a little maple syrup in the batter. It’s good. Try it.”
Ford needed no encouragement. He was famished. The rush of sweetness surprised him. Corn cake seemed to instantly coat his entire mouth. The fruit leather was chewy and tart. Thoughts of escape would have to wait until after breakfast.
“Oh, man. This is wonderful! You eat this every day?” Ford examined the remaining half of his corn cake. “There is nothing like this in The City.”
Ivy stood a couple meters away, nibbling at her own breakfast roll while her eyes studied Ford. “You’re really from The City? I’ve heard stories of what it’s like in there. It sounds awful.”
“Well,” Ford hesitated, “There are some downsides, but it’s not all bad. I want to get back there as soon as I can.” He pictured the little curl on the back of Ada’s neck.
“You really miss family, huh?” said Nathan. “I know I would.”
“Fah-Molly?” Ford mumbled with his mouth full. “Ish dat what dish ish called? They don’t have FahMolly in The City.” He held up the last bit of his corn cake roll. “Famolly.”
“No,” said Ivy with a little laugh. “That’s just a corn cake. He means your family. You know, your father, mother: the woman who bore you, raised you?”
Ford blinked again and forced a little smile. What are they talking about? These must be native Wisconsi words, but for what?
Rachel walked over to pour water in an earthenware cup for everyone to drink from. “Ivy, dear, don’t tease the man. City people don’t have families. They don’t have mothers or fathers like you’re thinking of.”
“What?” exclaimed Nathan. “How can he not have a mother? Just the other day, daddy was telling me how when a man and a woman…”
“That’s enough, Nathan.” Rachel put two fingers on Nathan’s lips.
“But…”
“It’s complicated. Your father will explain that part to you when he gets home,” said Rachel. “Everyone get back to work.” She scooped up the basket and walked back to the house. As she walked away, Ford noticed that Rachel suffered from a more advanced stage of swelling in her hips and backside. Was it a typical village affliction?
Ford raised the handle of the flax break to resume crunching stalks, but his right arm felt like it was made of stone. He could barely lift it. Stepping around the other side, he used his left arm. Facing away from Ivy and Nathan, his mind resumed thoughts of escape.
He wondered where they kept their corn cakes. If he found that out, perhaps he could grab some to eat on his way back to The City? Where were Owen, Teuz, and Bozeman? Did he have an obligation to find them and help them escape? Could he? He was not sure he should help Bozeman escape. Leaving him a slave might be justice.
(end 9, part 1)
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Post by texican on Dec 7, 2019 19:10:53 GMT -6
Ford is learning and noticing females are different from city females and males....
Ford should wait before trying to escape for he doesn't want to be hugging the post.
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by kaijafon on Dec 7, 2019 19:12:39 GMT -6
I'm thinking Fords curiosity may just persuade him to not try to escape.
And of course the corn cakes... ;D
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Post by mic on Dec 8, 2019 18:04:13 GMT -6
(chapter 9, part 2)
Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw Cassie step over the side fence. Her bow and quiver of arrows were slung over her shoulder. She carried several animal pelts cradled in her arms. Her face looked soft, almost friendly, when it was not set in a scowl.
“Ivy, if I’m not back before supper, tell Daddy that I’ve gone over to Cedar Fork. The Schultz’s have their tanning pit ready and…”
Cassie stopped talking when her eyes fell upon Jasper. Her more-familiar scowl returned. Jasper scowled back at her. She then noticed Ford had turned to face her. Her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth curled down even more.
“You! I have no idea why they…Ivy! Where is that remote? Why don’t you have it in your hand?”
“I have it right here,” Ivy said cautiously.
“You can’t keep it in your pocket!” bellowed Cassie. “What if that…that thing rushed at you? Huh? What would you do? Fumble in your pocket while he knocks you to the ground and mauls you or…or worse?”
While Cassie continued to chastise Ivy, Ford noticed that Cassie’s swelling was not like the disfigurements he had seen in the city. He had seen some work-related injuries: swelling from a broken arm, swelling from a blow to the head, etc. This was different. The line of the outward curve of her chest seemed to flow into the inverse curve of her waist. That, in turn, flowed out to join the curve of her hips. It was actually rather artistic, once he thought about it. As far as health conditions went, Cassie’s ailment was actually rather pleasant to look at.
“And you! Stop staring at me like that!” shouted Cassie. She rushed up to Ford and swung her arm at him. Ford made the mistake of wondering what she was doing and caught her palm squarely across his cheek. “So help me. I should have killed you when I first saw you.”
Cassie turned on her heel, scooped up her animal pelts, and jumped back over the fence. Ford noticed that her angry strides made her bottom bounce all the more.
Ivy stood motionless behind her scutching board, her eyes following Cassie as she stomped away. Once Cassie was out of sight, Ivy relaxed.
“Look, I’m sorry about my sister,” said Ivy. “She’s been impossible ever since...”
“She lost her fiancée a little while ago,” interrupted Nathan. “His people attacked our village.” Nathan pointed to Jasper.
Fee-on-say. Here we go again with Wisconsi words. Ford decided that it would be wiser to play along – keep his captors friendly.
“I hope she finds this FeeOnSay. It might hurt less if she were less angry.” Ford rubbed his stinging cheek.
“Not that kind of lost,” said Ivy. “He means killed. They killed her fiancée.”
Ford waited, expecting more of a description of what a FeeOnSay was. Perhaps it was an animal she liked. Both Ivy and Nathan were looking at him expectantly as if awaiting a reaction. Ford could only smile and shrug. He had no idea what kind of animal they were talking about.
“Her fiancée, her betrothed?” explained Ivy. “You know, husband and wife? Married?”
Ford was growing impatient with talk in meaningless native words. He tried to adopt a friendly face to disguise his frustration. Optimistically, such banter (even if pointless) might prompt his captors to relax and be less careful.
“I don’t speak Wisconsi,” said Ford with a shrug. “I don’t know those words.”
“Wisconsi?” Nathan tilted his head. “What’s that?”
"You don't know what a mother or a father is?" asked Ivy. "Or husband or wife?"
Ford smiled, shook his head, and shrugged. Why would I know your stupid words?
“That’s amazing!” announced Nathan. “What other words don’t you know?”
Ford blinked. “Huh?”
Ivy smacked a backhand across Nathan’s shoulder. “How can you be so dumb? Think about what you just said.”
Nathan’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Right.” He blushed but turned away to face Jasper. “Why did you stop cranking? Go on. Back to work.”
"We should, too,” said Ivy. “There’s a lot to break yet.”
Ford had to switch arms again. It was his left arm’s turn to feel like stone. His right arm felt less heavy but limp like the broken flax. The lever of the flax break had become very heavy. Admonished by Cassie, Ivy kept the remote more ready than before. Ford would have to bide his time.
The lunch break could not have come too soon. Ford flopped down to sit on the ground to eat his corn cake. Even his legs felt fluffy and soft like flax. He had taken some comfort in seeing the pile of flax stalks getting smaller. His hopes were dashed when Nathan brought out two more huge armloads.
Ford groaned. “More?”
Nathan looked at him with curiosity. "You can't do more? Maybe Matthew was right."
“No, no,” said Ford. He slowly pushed himself up to stand behind the break. “I’m fine. I just thought we were…going to…do something different next. Maybe we could trade jobs?” Ford pointed to Jasper.
“That’s not what daddy told us,” said Ivy. “He can’t move around as much with his short chain. We do what we’re told.”
“Besides,” said Nathan. “We’ve got to get all this into braids so it can go upriver to be dyed and dried in time to travel south with us.”
Ford resumed breaking flax, though with less speed. His attention was caught by a tall young man coming toward the yard. His arms swung back and forth as he sauntered down the path. He wore the usual leather pants, a leather vest over his gray shirt, and a light gray hat with a wide brim. Ford thought the man’s neck seemed unusually thick. Perhaps that was his village deformity.
“Hey, I-Vee,” called the young man as he kicked one leg over the fence then stepped the other leg over.
“Hi Erik,” said Ivy in a monotone without looking up.
“How’s the little sweetpea doin’, huh?” Erik reached out one hand to stroke Ivy’s shoulder. Subtly, she shrank out from under his hand. Her eyes seemed to be looking anywhere but in Erik’s direction.
Was that the bad touch? Ford wondered. He was baffled over how Erik's touch differed from how Rachel touched Ben the day before. Wisconsi culture was complicated.
“We’re working today,” Ivy said. She resumed striking the flax with her scutching blade, hacking at the fibers with eyebrows knit and jaw set.
“I can see that,” said Erik. “Cassie home?”
“No.”
“Later, maybe. I heard you had a new slave, but I also heard that he was a citiot! I had to come and check it out. Hey, and it looks like the rumors were true. Look at it: all soaked in sweat! This thing looks ragged and just about worked to death. Probably have to bury it tomorrow. Won't have to dig much of a hole, though. It’s just skin and bones!” Erik threw back his head for a hearty laugh.
Ford kept his eyes down but swung down the break’s lever with renewed determination. Crunch. Crunch. CRUNCH!
Worked to death. I don’t think so. He grabbed another hank of flax. Crunch. Ca-Runch. CRUNCH! The extra effort shook drops of sweat from the tips of Ford’s matted hair.
“Well, I’ve got to help my dad dig out the new canoe,” said Erik. “See you in town tomorrow, eh sweetpea?”
“I don’t know.” Ivy kept her head down. She hacked faster at the flax. “We have a lot to get done.”
“Oh yeah. Always got work to do,” said Erik as he turned to go. “I’ll be watching for ya, I-Vee.” He waved over his shoulder.
Ivy stared straight ahead with an angry scowl, more or less in Ford’s direction. Eventually, their eyes met. Her scowl vanished, and she looked away.
Rachel walked up with a wooden bench in her arms. “I hope you’ve got a lot for me to work with,” she said.
“We’ve got all this.” Ivy pointed proudly to dozens of fluffy flax ponytails hanging over a wooden rail.
“Is that all?” Rachel asked. Ford noticed a hint of a suppressed smile on Rachel’s face.
“What?” Ivy gasped. “What do you mean, ‘is that all?’ We’ve been working all morning and…”
“I was teasing you, dear,” said Rachel. “Why are my girls so serious all the time?”
Rachel set up her bench near the rail of flaxen ponytails. Atop one end of the bench stood a cluster of thin wooden spikes, all pointing up. On the other end stood a similar group of spikes, but they were thinner and shorter. Rachel took one of the soft hanks of flax and pulled it across the coarse spikes several times. This combed the fibers straight and pulled out a tangle of curly fibers.
“You.” Rachel pointed to Ford. “You can stop breaking for now. Take that sack there and start putting this stuff inside.” She held up a wad of the tangled fibers she pulled from the spikes.
“My name is Ford.” He stepped around, picked up the bag, and knelt beside the spiky bench.
Rachel tilted her head. “You have a name? That’s unusual for a city person. Okay then, Ford, after I run these through the hackles, your job is to pull out the tow – that’s this stuff here – and put it in the sack. Understand?”
Ford nodded. He was also grateful for the change. His arms quivered from fatigue. Sweat dripped into his eyes and off the tip of his nose.
Rachel combed several hanks of flax into smooth, silky ribbons that glistened in the sun. Roughly half of each hank brushed away into tufts of tow. When she had as many smooth fibers as she could hold between thumb and forefinger, she deftly twisted them into a braid.
“Ivy? Would you go fetch my strick basket? I couldn’t carry it and the bench at the same time,” said Rachel. Ivy handed Rachel the remote and bounded toward the house.
“Nathan. Keep a better watch on your slave,” Rachel scolded. “He’s hardly turning the stone at all.”
“He has a name too,” Ford said softly.
“What?” Rachel was taken aback.
“His name is Jasper.”
"I know Dogs have names, but he'll get no respect in this house. He is a prisoner for a good reason. His people killed Robert during their raid on us. Cassie has been a fury ever since.”
“Oh? Robert was the name of her animal?” Ford asked as he pulled tangles of fluff from the wooden spikes.
“Her what?”
“Her Fee-On-Say. Ivy and Nathan said Jasper’s people killed her favorite animal: a FeeOnSay. Is that a kind of cat?”
Rachel sighed and shook her head. “Nathan, did you tell him Robert was a cat?”
Nathan shook his head, vigorously. "No, ma'am. He got that all on his own."
“Oh, you city people. You really don’t know about any of this, do you?”
“Well, I learned about lions and tigers and…”
“No, no, no. A fiancée is a person. Robert was the man Cassie was going to marry.”
Rachel emphasized her last word with a hint of drama that implied that Ford should be impressed by it. He looked up, awaiting the rest. None came.
“Merry? Like cheerful?”
Rachel rolled her eyes and resumed combing the flax. “It must be true what I heard about city folks rewriting everything to remove the words they didn’t like. Marriage must have been one of them. But, how can they eliminate such a basic human concept as marriage? Look, when a man and a woman love each other…”
Nathan leaned closer with a poorly concealed look of anticipation.
“Love?” Ford had not heard that word before. He imagined it might be an archaic Wisconsi past-tense for the word leave. Robert was going to leave Cassie?
“You don’t know that word either?” asked Rachel.
“He doesn’t know a lot of words,” inserted Nathan.
“You get back to tending the grindstones,” scolded Rachel. She muttered to herself. “For crying out loud. How could they erase love from the vocabulary?”
"Um…by, never using it?" Ford suggested. "I never saw it in our lessons. We use the word left as the past tense of leave.”
Rachel blinked a few times in confusion. “No, no, no. Left is the past tense of leave. Love is an emotion: something you feel inside. It’s stronger than like.” She leaned closer. “They did teach you the word like, right? You can like a good meal, or like a favorite song?” Ford nodded.
“Good.” Rachel quickly braided up another strick of flax. “Well, when a man and a woman like each other a lot, it's called love. There's more to it than that but never mind. Robert and Cassie were in love.”
Ford wondered if that was what he felt toward Ada. He had no word for. He did like to communicate with her. He liked to see her. Did he like her ‘a lot’? How much is ‘a lot’? Growing up, he heard no positive stories about men and women interacting at all – let alone about love. Did city leaders not want anyone to know about love?
Ivy returned with a square basket. She placed Rachel’s braided stricks inside before returning to her scutching board.
“Robert was a good man,” Rachel continued as she combed more flax. “He helped out a lot around here as he was courting Cassie. He was the best of Franklin’s sons and would have made a great husband for Cassie. There aren’t many boys of proper age for girls to choose from. The best ones get betrothed quickly.”
“Ivy knows all about that,” teased Nathan. “Riiigght?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Ivy. She beat her flax with extra zeal.
“Stop teasing your sister,” Rachel scolded.
"But, you teased her."
Rachel silenced Nathan with an icy stare. Her face relaxed as she turned back to Ford. “Erik has many…qualities.”
“Sister?” Ford asked. “That’s a Wisconsi word, right?
“Wisconsi?”
“You people. you’re called The Wisconsi, right?”
"We're in Wisconsin if that's what you mean. We call ourselves The River People,” said Rachel. “As for what ‘sister’ means, that will take some explaining.”
Rachel sighed deeply and did not look up as she combed batch after batch of flax. She patiently explained the names and relationships of family members and extended families. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents: all titles to trace the relationship and history of peoples’ group assignments, apparently. He supposed that, by River People's language, his former co-workers at the panel factory were his brothers. Perhaps it was his schoolmates who would better qualify for the title.
Ford’s frustration with strange words was becoming a curiosity. There were so many connections between people, and each had its own name. He was happy to learn the word “girl.” It was so much simpler than his own concoctions like small-woman, or half-sized-woman. Why was the word girl removed from city language? It was such a handy word.
Ford was also glad to pass the afternoon gathering tow off the spikes of the hackles and stuffing it into a sack. Even though it was lighter work, his arms still ached.
“I think I understand all of that,” said Ford, “but I do have a question.”
“No doubt you do,” said Rachel. “It sounds like this was all pretty new to you.”
“You kept saying ‘had.’ Like, ‘if they had a baby boy,' or 'if they had a baby girl.' Where do they get them? Where do babies come from?”
Nathan’s eyes widened. He stopped the grindstone from turning to silence its noise. He looked from Rachel to Ford and back again, not wanting to miss a word.
(end 9, part 2)
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remembergoliad
Member
if you send friend req on FB, message me too. I won't accept if I don't recognize you.
Posts: 158
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Post by remembergoliad on Dec 8, 2019 19:06:45 GMT -6
Oh man...if Ford's mind ain't blown now, it's fixin to be! ROFL!!!
Thanks for the story, Mic!
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 8, 2019 21:38:05 GMT -6
Mic, you're doin' one hell of a job of reelin' me in with this one.
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Post by texican on Dec 9, 2019 15:08:49 GMT -6
Ford: “You kept saying ‘had.’ Like, ‘if they had a baby boy,' or 'if they had a baby girl.' Where do they get them? Where do babies come from?”
Nathan’s eyes widened. He stopped the grindstone from turning to silence its noise. He looked from Rachel to Ford and back again, not wanting to miss a word.Ford is intelligent by not drinking the city drugged water.... Ford is learning and asked the right question, but probably at the wrong time.... Seems like Nathan wants to know also.... Just how will mom Rachel handle THIS question? mic, we need another chapter to see what happens.... Thanks for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by lonehawk on Dec 9, 2019 20:28:37 GMT -6
I am really enjoying this story, thank you! Excellent writing!
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Post by mic on Dec 10, 2019 12:10:33 GMT -6
Chapter 9, part 3
Rachel looked down and cleared her throat while her fingers fidgeted with a braid of flax for a few moments. “We’ll talk more some other time, okay? I have to go inside and make supper. You go break some more flax. Ivy is almost done with her batch.” Rachel handed Ivy the remote, snatched up the square basket in her arms, and rushed back to the hut.
Ford looked at Nathan and Ivy, expecting that they might answer his question. It seemed like a perfectly legitimate question. Replacement people in The City came from someplace within the Department of Health and Productivity. These River People had no such department. Where, then, did they acquire their babies?
“Why did everyone get so quiet?” asked Ford.
“City people don’t know any of that?” Jasper shook his head. “Incredible.”
Ford felt a rush of embarrassment and felt a little defensive. Why should he know any of that? He knew what he needed to know: how to do his job, which trams to take to get to his job, and the latest regulations. He knew where the cameras were, where they were not, and how to mess with the Bots. Beyond those things, what mattered? There had to be a million peripheral matters that a young city man simply did not need to know to go about his daily life.
How, exactly, were food disks made? Who cared? They were in the boxes and ready to eat. What happened to people after they died? Who cared? It meant an apartment opened up. How were replacement-people made? Who cared? They showed up whether you knew or not. Playing Hall of Heroes was more fun than worrying over trivial details. Watching videos was more interesting. Now, it seemed as if he should have cared.
“Well, I mean,” Ford stumbled to his own defense. “Babies come from the Department of Health and Productivity. I mean, sure, of course. Everyone knows that. They make them there out of…” Ford’s mind went blank. He could not recall if anyone had ever explained what the doctors made the babies out of.
He could remember, as a boy, asking his teachers where the replacement people came from. His teachers would talk in generalities about the miracles of science and what marvelous strides the DHP had made. They never gave any details. Young Ford was left to imagine that babies were grown in jars from seeds of some kind or printed with a self-duplicating version of BioPlast. He assumed that the special version of BioPlast catalyzed slowly. So the newly printed babies had to be placed into the bellies of Carriers to be kept warm and moist during the final curing. When the BioPlast had become firm enough, DHP doctors would take the baby out the Carrier and give it to the Tenders to raise. That was, at least, how Ford imagined that it worked. His childhood theory sufficed all these years with no pressure (or need) to revise it: until now.
“Do you people have a lab someplace?” Ford asked. “You have a way to make and print BioPlast?”
Ivy still avoided eye contact. She shook her head and smiled. “We need to finish breaking and cleaning these last few bundles of flax.”
“You don’t use BioPlast?”
“Just break more flax,” Ivy said.
Ford’s arm ached as he resumed breaking flax bundles. The heat of the afternoon was at its peak, further sapping what little strength he had. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cassie walking into the yard. He kept his head down and his eyes on the flax in hopes of avoiding another stinging outburst.
“Mama said I needed to heckle the last of what you’re working on,” Cassie said. She took up her position behind the bench and began combing flax almost as fast as Rachel had.
“Done early up at Cedar Fork?” Ivy asked.
“Yes. My pelts will be soaking up there for weeks. Nothing to see.”
“No one to…talk to?” Ivy asked without raising her head but glancing over at her sister with her eyes.
"There weren't any boys there if that's what you mean," said Cassie dismissively. "And that was just fine with me." She twisted her handful of well-combed fibers into a braided strick, though it took her longer and it looked uneven.
“Erik came by while you were gone,” said Nathan. He cast an eye toward Ivy to see if he got a rise out of her.
"Humph. Eric," Cassie muttered.
She bent over to toss a long hank of fibers across the spikes. Ford noticed that she had unbuttoned a couple of her top shirt buttons and unlaced her vest in response to the hot afternoon. Ford could see that her swelling was not her chest entirely, but appeared to be in her chest muscles. Hmm. Guess it’s not skeletal.
"I saw Eric in the village," grumbled Cassie. "He was all chatty, but he is so obvious. There's only one thing on his mind."
Cassie bent over again to toss a new hank of fibers across the spikes. Her swollen muscles met in the middle to create a little crease. For reasons he did not understand, that crease struck Ford as curious.
“Life was so much easier when Robert was alive.” Cassie gave Jasper a look that would have withered a tree. “While we were engaged, the other boys left me alone. They knew Robert would tear their arms off if he caught them looking at me like Eric does.”
Every time Cassie bent over to comb a long hank of fibers, Ford watched the pink triangle in her shirt. The swellings seemed soft, not hard like a flexed muscle. Ford wondered why he found the crease between the swellings to be so fascinating.
“What are you doing?” shouted Cassie.
Ford looked up. She stared at him with more venom than she had toward Jasper.
“That’s it! I have had all I’m going to take from the likes of you.” Cassie grabbed at the remote in Ivy’s hand.
“No!” shouted Ivy. She tried to hold the remote high and out of reach, but Cassie had longer arms.
“I’m not going to stand for this creep staring at me like that any longer!”
Ford's spirit sank. She was not merely going to slap him, she was going to shock him. For some reason, the thought of writhing helplessly on the ground in front of her bothered him more than anticipating the pain. While Cassie and Ivy struggled over the remote, Ford had a moment to prepare himself.
He leaned his hips against the flax break, spread his legs slightly, and locked his knees. Hopefully, that would keep him upright. He leaned forward slightly, arms apart, palms down on the flax break, and locked his elbows. Perhaps that would brace him from tilting over sideways.
Cassie finally wrested the remote away. Despite Ivy’s hands pawing to reclaim the black bar, Cassie pressed the buttons. Her face was as fierce as the cat that had his arm in its mouth.
Pain shot down Ford’s spine and across his shoulders. His chin rose slightly as the shock stiffened his neck. He was determined to stay standing despite the pain. To his surprise, he had a tiny amount of muscle control with which he countered a slow lean to the left. He kept his eyes locked on hers.
Cassie blinked. Her fierce cat expression vanished. She looked confused and held up the remote for a closer look. She was about to press the buttons again when Ivy snatched it away.
“No!” Ivy shouted. “Stop it!”
Ivy winced and braced herself, expecting her sister to send her flying with a backhand. Instead, Cassie stood motionless, her mouth open slightly. Her eyes looking up and down at Ford in disbelief that he was not on the ground.
“He can’t look at you ‘that way’,” said Ivy. “He’s not like that. He has no idea. You’re just mad at everyone and taking it out on him.”
The tingling began to subside. Ford took a deep breath but kept his eyes on Cassie’s eyes. They were rounder than before. For a brief moment, they showed an honest curiosity. Would she try it again? Ford was not at all sure he could remain upright through a second shock. His legs felt like rubber.
Cassie turned and ran to the house, her long dark hair trailing behind her as she ran.
“Are you okay?” asked Ivy. She slowly approached Ford and touched his hand. The contact startled him out of staring at the corner Cassie had run around.
“I am so sorry about that. She’s got longer arms and I…”
“That’s okay,” said Ford. “Not your fault.” He glanced down at Ivy's hand on his and then at her other hand. He could quickly snatch the remote away from her. At the moment, however, he was not thinking about escape. His mind was a muddle of other thoughts: unfocused, nonverbal thoughts he had never felt before.
Ford shook himself slightly to resettle his joints. "We had better get the last of this finished, so you don't get in trouble." With quivering legs, Ford gathered up the last few bundles of flax and began breaking them. Ivy returned to her scutching board but chopped at her fibers with feeble strokes.
"I'll do that while you comb," said Ford. "You know how right?" Ivy nodded and handed him the scutching blade.
“And what are you two staring at?” Ford asked Nathan and Jasper. “Do you want to get in trouble too?”
Nathan dug into an almost-empty sack and poured a handful of yellow grains in the grindstone. “Come on, you. Get turning. Daddy will be coming back soon.” Jasper looked from one to the other of them and resumed turning his crank.
Ford lay motionless on his back on the floor of the pen, his arms and legs spread wide. They felt like lead. He had no energy. A chicken walked across his stomach, pecking at tiny crumbs of corn cake he had missed from supper. He could hear Jasper’s lips smacking somewhere to his right.
“You shouldn’t be working hard like that,” said Jasper as he licked his fingers. “Shouldn’t be helping these Rats any more than they force you to.”
Ford did not see how getting slapped, shocked, and worked to exhaustion was such a help.
“You’re not gonna let a little cleavage make you stupid, are you?" asked Jasper.
“Clee-what?” Ford snapped under his breath. He was in no mood for more strange words.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I saw you gawking. I’ll grant you that missy-fireball is hot stuff – for a River Rat. Worth stealing, yeah, but not worth staying for. You’re not changing your mind about escaping, are you?”
Ford’s mind was a fog of new concepts and unfamiliar feelings. Still, none of it had risen to the point of supplanting his original plan: return to The City. “No. I still want to get out of here.”
--- (end Chapter 9)
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Post by pbbrown0 on Dec 10, 2019 15:15:06 GMT -6
Hmmm...It is almost beginning to look like, with a little time and patience of course, that Ford may yet understand what it is that he was DESIGNED to be.
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