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Post by 9idrr on Jan 1, 2020 21:27:08 GMT -6
Thanks, mic, for the nice New Year's present.
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Post by texican on Jan 2, 2020 0:20:41 GMT -6
mic,
Thanks for the chapters....
Seems like Ford is in for a world intrigue and stealing for Ada....
Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 3, 2020 17:56:15 GMT -6
(Chapter 13, part 2)
The night air still hung cold below the trees as they quietly loaded a canoe. Knowing that Dog raiders were probably hidden on the western bank, Ben chose a backchannel on the east side of an island as the place to gear up. There would be no masking their travels farther downstream, but loading in secret would give as little advance notice as possible.
“Here.” Ivy handed Ford her buckskin shoulder bag. “I made these corn cakes myself. You’ll need food on your trip.” She avoided eye contact.
“Thanks, Ivy.” Ford looped the strap over his head. He felt he should say something but had no idea what.
“It sounds petty or shallow,” she said, “but to be honest, part of me hopes you won’t be able to find her.”
“I don’t know if I can find her either. It’s a huge city, and there is no guaranty she will be where she used to be. But I have to try. I couldn't live out here happily, without trying to get her out."
She nodded without looking up. “You have to do what’s right, not just what you want. That’s part of what makes you different from all the other boys.”
“Time to go, Ford,” whispered Ben.
“We’ve got to go.” Ford touched Ivy’s shoulder. She did not shrink away.
“May God bring you back quickly,” she said, lifting her eyes. “I’ll be here, if…well, if things…”
“I know.” He gave her shoulder a little squeeze before stepping into the canoe.
The pre-dawn brightened the landscape with a uniform deep blue. To his left, Ford could see the tall bluffs and pointed hills of the eastern bank silhouetted against the cyan sky. To his right stretched the dense scrub of a low island. Thus far, their travel was not visible to the western shore.
A man Ford did not know rode in the front of the canoe. He used a paddle for occasional steering corrections. Bozeman sat behind him, holding their bundles and admiring the knife that Elijah gave him.
Ben sat in the middle with his rifle laid across his lap. Ford sat next, followed by Zeke in the back, straddling a long block of batteries. He held the long shaft with a motor on one end and a propeller on the other. The motor hummed a deep chord as it pushed the canoe at the speed of a loping run.
As they passed a deep notch in the forested bluffs, Ford could see low ruins amid the trees. Sections of the yellow, white and red walls had not yet been absorbed by the forest.
“That was DeSoto,” said Ben softly. “City teams came through and took up all the steel rails along the river. Only the roadbed remains. The crews were only interested in volumes of steel, so they didn’t mess with the town, other than to wreck the houses. We got some good glass and copper from what’s left.”
The man in the bow of the canoe half-turned and hissed three times to get Ben's attention. "We're about to bend over to the other side. Eyes peeled."
Zeke turned the motor down to a slow speed that barely made any sound. The big V of their bow wave flattened out to a series of smaller Vs. The river flowed to the right between low islands. Ahead, it curved to the left at the foot of a tall wall of trees. The sun had risen and shown yellow beams on the tops of the western bluff.
As they rounded the curve, hugging the left side as much possible, a tall concrete shape loomed into view. Maybe twenty meters tall, it stood at the edge of the western bank like a squared-off, upside-down U. Behind the U stretched a uniform carpet of broken wood, siding, and shingles.
“This was Lansing,” whispered Ben. “My father, Joshua, said there used to be a tall steel bridge across the river here. See the other piers on the other side? The City took the bridge down about the same time they took up the rails on both sides of the river. Salvage crews took what was left of Lansing about five years ago.”
“Psst, psst,” hissed the man in front. He pointed to the tall bluffs along the western side of the river. They would have to travel past a long stretch of high ground.
“Let’s stay closer to the right,” Ben whispered to the front man and Zeke. “Reduce our visibility to the bluff, but don’t get too close to the trees.” Ben signaled to Bozeman and Ford to keep a watch on the trees.
The canoe hummed along quietly. Only a few birds called in the distance. It seemed odd to Ford that so much water could be moving and yet not make a sound. The western bank’s high ground was more of a line of rounded hills than continuous cliffs. Ford doubted anyone could attack them from the hilltops. They were too far from the water’s edge.
The sound of a crack – a branch breaking somewhere to their right – caused everyone in the canoe to tense up. The faint sound of a man grunting was followed by a stone thrown high in the air from the trees nearby. There was a rope tied to the stone. Several other rocks came sailing up, each with their own line.
The first stone splashed into the river just ahead of the canoe. A second stone landed to their left, its rope draped between the front man and Bozeman. The unseen raider on shore began pulling on his rope hard and fast. The line started to turn the canoe toward shore.
The front man began hacking at the rough rope with his knife while Bozeman tried to lift the stone away. Zeke reversed his motorized shaft to back the canoe away from shore. More lines flew, fell across the boat, and pulled it toward shore. The rope the fell behind Ford turned the canoe's stern toward shore. Zeke reset the motor, now at high speed. It was not enough to overcome the pull of the ropes. As fast as they could cut or throw off a line, two more took its place.
The log craft crept closer to the trees. Ben shouldered his rifle and fired at the foliage where a rope entered the leaves. Despite the cloud of blue-gray smoke, Ford could see that the rope went slack. Ford cut another cord free. More stones with strings arced overhead. Benjamin fired at another rope terminus; gray smoke obscured the view. That rope went slack too.
“Turn us straight out!” shouted Ben as he fired again. “Make us a smaller target.”
The man in front dug into the water with his paddle, trying to coax the long dugout into a left turn. Zeke wrestled the motor shaft to the opposite side to help the turn. Smaller rocks without ropes flew out of the trees. One hit Ford in the shoulder. Another hit Zeke in the back.
"Get out in mid-channel," shouted Ben. He kept his rifle shouldered but did not fire.
Soon, the rocks splashed harmlessly behind them. Angry but muffled shouts arose from the tree line.
“There had to be a dozen of ‘em,” said Zeke. “Unusual for Dogs.”
“Some of them must have seen us leave and signaled ahead,” said Ben.
“Hard to believe they can communicate any useful information with just flags waved from treetops," said Zeke. "You'd think they were using walkies or something."
“No one dares use radios,” said Ben, “not even Dogs. The City would pick that up quickly and have ships out here in a couple hours.”
“Are we going to have to past any more of these bluffs?” Ford asked as he cast a wary eye at the hilltops.
“There’s a couple stretches ahead, yes,” answered Ben. “We’d better stick to the left side even though it makes us more visible at a distance. I’ve only got three shots left.”
“Only three?” Ford asked. “In the videos…in the before-times…” He recalled the video of the woman in the car being shot dozens and dozens of times. “People were shooting a lot!”
“That was back then,” said Ben. “Rounds are hard to come by now. After they came to power, they shut down all ammunition factories – except their own, of course. When our people fled into the woods, we had only what we carried.”
“Those ran out decades ago,” added Zeke. “We’ve been reloading our own since I was just a boy. We save the casings, cast new bullets, make black powder…”
"So yes," said Ben. "We make our own, but the ingredients are hard to come by. We only shoot when it’s absolutely necessary. Besides, the sound carries. Any other Dog groups along the river will have heard and be on alert. You should be too. Watch the river directly to your right very carefully. Bozeman, you watch right and ahead.”
“We’re crossing over toward Lynxville,” said the man in front.
“Can we keep up this speed, Zeke?” asked Ben.
Zeke shook his head. “When we go back, we’ll be going against the current. That takes a lot of juice.”
“I agree,” said Ben. “Laying out the sheet will slow the drain. It makes us more obvious, though. What do you think?”
“Well,” Zeke scratched head with his free hand. “After the shots, any Dogs out there will already be on the lookout. They won't be fooled by our floating bush camouflage anyhow. Might as well grab some sun and stretch our juice.”
Ben pulled a white tube from a fabric bag. The man in front attached a wooden rod into a hole in the left side of the canoe. Zeke did the same. They unrolled the solar sheet and suspended it between the rods. The boat then had a dark blue shelf attached to its left side. When Zeke connected the black cables, the little motor surged faster.
“Ah, she likes the fresh juice. Good sun. We’re getting to use some of that over-peak power. Good stuff.” Zeke patted the little motor.
“If you still have guns, do the Dogs have guns?” Ford asked. He kept his eyes on the shoreline trees as they glided past.
“A few. Only what they can steal,” said Ben. “They’re travelers, always following the herds out there.”
“Unless they’re hanging around the river to steal what they can from us,” added Zeke. “Lazy brutes.”
“Ammunition requires settling down to make materials.” Ben pointed to another small collection of wooden ruins nearly absorbed by woods. “That was Lynxville. The channel is going to bend over to the west side again soon.”
“You make bullets? Ford could not reconcile traces of industry amid the wild. The City has factories to make things. “You don’t have factories…do you?”
“Not factories like The City has. We make things on a smaller scale. We reuse the brass casings from before all this,” said Ben. “We can melt down the brass, but we don't have the tools to make new casings uniform enough. Still, we get a lot of reloads from each one. Make our own black powder. Our mine yields some lead. You worked in the mine, didn’t you Bozeman?”
“Yes. I was hauling up boxes of some rock with shiny black crystals.”
“Galena,” said Ben.
“And there were wide pans over hot fires,” recalled Bozeman. “They mixed in crushed limestone. My other job was crushing chunks of limestone with a hammer.”
“Right. We smelt out the lead. We get a little sulfur as a byproduct. Saltpeter’s a stinkin’ muddy mess and takes a long time. The Dogs don’t stay in one place long enough to do anything like that.”
“Shhh,” hissed the man in front.
The whirr of the motor made it difficult to hear any movement among the trees. The river turned to the right. Scrubby trees on low islands framed the view of the steep hills that lined the western bank.
"Keep us on the right side," said Ben. "Zeke, don't let us get too close to either side. We'll have no more ropes."
“Waukon,” whispered the man in front. He tipped his head to string of flattened yellow and white ruins at the edge of the river.
“Right.” Ben addressed Bozeman and Ford. “This will be a long stretch on the west side until we’re past Prairie du Chien. If any of you see anything that looks the slightest bit off, shout it out.”
The slightest bit off? I don’t know what things are supposed to look like when they’re on – whatever that means.
Ford strained to study each tree before they passed it. The tops occasionally swayed from a gentle breeze. Birds flew in and out. The canoe was too far into the channel for another rocks-and-ropes attack. They were too far out for even hurled rocks to be a threat.
Ford studied the murky brown water. It undulated gently as it flowed. Here and there, something beneath the surface would impart a standing wave or a persistent eddy. Could some Dogs try swimming underwater and attempt to flip the canoe? What sorts of signs might they make if they were under the water?
With his eyes on the trees again, Ford thought he might spot a lookout or see some signal to indicate trouble ahead. He noticed that he could see the course of a wind gust, watching it ruffle one tree after another as it passed.
Then he saw a branch sway down. The wind moved them side-to-side. “Hey, um…” Ford began to point.
“Hard left!” shouted Ben.
(end 13, pt. 2)
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Post by texican on Jan 3, 2020 21:47:09 GMT -6
mic, Ford and Bozeman and crew on the way to the City.... Rocks and ropes to pull the canoe to shore.... Need generates ingenuity.... Now what could go wrong? Thanks for the chapter.... Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 3, 2020 22:05:04 GMT -6
Our boy Ford is pickin' up on things pretty quickly, probably faster than I would.
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Post by mic on Jan 4, 2020 15:57:48 GMT -6
Chapter 13, part 3
The dugout had only started its grudging turn when splinters of wood peppered the back of Ford’s neck. A loud bang followed. Eyes followed the sound to see a cloud of gray smoke filtering out of the trees.
“Far side. Top speed. Keep turning. Don’t run straight,” said Ben. “They might have more than one bullet.”
“Man, they shot a hole in our boat,” said Zeke. “Ford, get something: a rag, maybe. Plug that hole before the batteries get their feet wet.”
The first hole in the right side was above the waterline. That was the source of the splinters. The second hole, on the left side, was below the waterline. A stream of muddy water as big around as Ford’s thumb flowed in. Ford stuffed in a piece of fabric that Ivy had wrapped around his corn cakes. He pushed it into the hole until the flow slowed to a slow ooze.
"If he's got a second round, he'd better try it quickly," said Ben. "We were a long shot before. We're getting too far downrange to waste another.”
“Get something to scoop this water out,” said Zeke. “Can’t have it sloshing around down here.
Ford scooped water in his cupped hands and flung it over the side. He wanted to keep watching the shore but could not do both. He concentrated on scooping water.
“Is this going to keep happening?” asked Ford. “Are they going to keep attacking us all the way down the river?” It seemed like only a matter of time before one of the Dog ambushes succeeded. He shuddered to think of how long (or short) he would have lasted alone on a raft.
“Never can tell,” said Ben. “They’re already far more active than usual. That last shot will have alerted any other raiding parties lurking along the river.
Long minutes passed with no sign of anything beyond trees and muddy water. Ford’s eyes grew dry from the intense scrutiny of the tree line.
“We can’t keep this pace,” said Zeke. “Even with the solar sheet out, we might not have enough to get back tomorrow. I really don’t want to be paddling upstream.”
“You’re right,” said Ben. “Back it off to the fastest, yet efficient, speed. We can’t outrun the speed of sound. If someone was alerted up ahead, they already know we’re coming.”
Zeke dialed back the motor’s speed to a barely audible hum. “There are the bridge piers up ahead. We made it to Prairie du Chien.”
In the river stood one tall blade-wall of cast concrete. Three smaller T-shapes stood between the blade and the forested island to the east.
“They took the Highway 18 bridge before my time,” said Zeke. “I’m kinda glad the citiots took this one down. It would have let the Dogs come uncomfortably close to our summer digs. Crews like yours were up here four or five years ago, hauling out the concrete from du Chien. Guess their machines don't like water, so these here are all that's left."
“We had several years to scrounge the town for useful bits,” added Ben. “Copper wire, aluminum, some plastics. We left whatever iron or steel there was in town. Those show up too easily on their scanners. Can’t afford to have much of any steel around.”
“That’s made of steel.” Ford pointed to Ben’s rifle.
“That it is. I need to keep it stored underground back at the village – most of the time. If the blackshirts show up out here, it’ll have to go in the river – even as valuable as it is.”
“What about my knife?”
Ben nodded solemnly. “That too, I’m afraid. It could lead them right to you.”
“The bend back to Wyalusing coming up," said the man in front. "So far, so good."
“If being nearly grappled and a hole shot in our boat can be called good,” quipped Zeke. “Time to bail some more, Ford. It’s still leaking.”
“Ivy and Nathan were saying that you people, the River People, travel up and down this river every spring and fall?”
"Yup," said Ben without taking his eyes off the trees as the river bent back toward the western shore. "We winter down on the Gulf coast. Fishing, plant onion, beets, and cabbage. We make our year's supply of salt then too."
“Okay, but how do you get up and down the river with this much danger,” asked Ford.
Zeke laughed. “With all our fighting men with us? They’d have to be dang-stupid – even for Dogs – to pick a fight with fifty prime fighters and a few hundred angry clan members. We’d be up that bank and all over their sorry backsides in a minute. Some of the women fighters, like that Cassie, would have a half dozen Dog cut into bits for roasting before we could stop them. They are fierce, let me tell ya.”
“That reminds me,” said Ford. “I didn’t see Cassie at the gathering the other day. She was acting kind of…well…I don’t know her at all, but…”
“Cassie has always been a little…complicated.” Ben chose his words carefully. “Truth is, she’s been an outright ball of anger ever since Robert was killed.”
“So I heard,” said Ford.
“Her short fuse got even shorter.”
“I know that firsthand,” said Ford.
“She had always been a tough fighter,” interjected Zeke. “Pretty good with that bow and not afraid to mix it up. That kinda put off most of the boys in the village.” Zeke chuckled. “She’s one hot… oh, sorry, Ben.”
Ben laughed. “Don’t be, Zeke. That girl’s got her mother’s curves. There’s no denying that. In fact, I’m kind of surprised she didn’t awaken something inside you, Ford. Especially after I learned that you’re not as brainwashed as I thought.”
Ford swallowed hard. Perhaps she had. He could not seem to resist looking at her. “She did not like me at all.”
“Hehe. At first, you are quite right. But you did something, or maybe it was Ivy. The past few days, Cassie has been quiet and moody. She and Ivy were arguing about you. Man, those girls can yell. The whole village must have heard it.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Ford.
“It must have been when you were dead asleep,” said Ben. He laughed. “Nathan said he thought you were dead.”
“She put herself on perimeter patrol,” said Zeke. “Been out scouting the edges looking for trouble.”
“Ivy gave her a pretty serious tongue lashing,” said Ben. “She ordered Cassie to leave you alone. Never thought I’d see the day that Ivy could boss around her older sister. Truth is, I think Cassie was starting to like you too, and Ivy was having none of it." Ben shook his head. "They were two raccoons fighting over the same fish. No sane man would step in between that.”
“What? Raccoons? What does that mean?”
“Never mind,” said Ben. “Turns out neither coon gets the fish. Having this Ada friend may have saved your life, Ford.” Ben gave him an enigmatic wink.
“Eyes up,” said the man in front. “Coming up on the narrows at Guttenberg.”
“Yeah,” said Zeke. “The channel gets skinny up here. They took the steel gates for the dam – all the dams, really – shortly after they built The City. Said they wanted the river to run free and natural. It didn't matter all that much, I guess. No one lived in the towns anymore to get flooded out, and there sure as heck wasn’t any more barge traffic. Been better for sturgeon fishing. Guess that’s a plus.”
Zeke steered to the left-most opening of a series of gaps between thick concrete columns. “Guttenberg used to be an ambush spot for the Dogs years back. Haven’t seen them in here ever since we started cutting back the brush and flattened the ruins. Nowhere to hide now.”
The hum of the motor echoed off of the squatty concrete columns as they passed between them. The low brush and wooden debris spread across the flat land of the former town. The concrete retaining wall at the water’s edge gave way to a rough rubble wall topped by scattered gray boards.
The river channel meandered back and forth between the eastern and western bluffs. Where possible, Zeke steered through narrow back channels that his map assured him were not dead ends. The curving green canyons between islands kept them out of view of the western bluffs, should anyone be up there watching.
The isolation gave Ford time to brew up misgivings over his fixation. Was he acting irrationally? His own plan was little more than a start and an endpoint. The plan devised by Zeke and the others still had so many gaps. Was he a fool to trust their scheme? He knew he could find his way back to the hex where he and Ninn lived and the adjacent complex in which Ada lived. What assurance did he have that she would still be there? What if they found out about her associations with him, and she got deported to the farm district or something? Even if she were still living in the same building, how would he contact her without setting off alarms?
Despite the quiet time to think, Ford seemed more adept at finding problems than formulating solutions.
“Almost there,” said the man in front. “Outskirts of old Dubuque ahead.” He pointed down the river. A row of the squatty columns stood across the channel.
Zeke slowed the motor to a minimal hum. The dugout advanced only a little faster than the river flowed. All eyes scanned the riverbank and tree line. As far back as Ford could see, the flat areas along the western bank were strewn with brick and old gray boards. Only a few shrubs dotted the rubble.
“They harvested Dubuque over ten years ago,” Ben said softly. “There was too much hardscape for the forest to reclaim it quickly. They did leave something, though.” He pointed between the former dam columns. “They left the 151 bridge.”
Ford stared with a sense of awe. The big steel arches and roadway beams were the largest manmade piece of the before-times that he had yet seen. The concrete dam columns were imposing, but the bridge was something still intact, just as it had been before the world changed.
“But that looks like a lot of steel,” said Ford. “They took all the other bridges we’ve passed.”
“They needed this one and the big one farther down. They send crews out every few years to maintain it. It’s a major crossing for their transports. If all goes well, you and Bozeman will be riding over that bridge tonight.”
“Sounds great,” said Bozeman. “Why are we stopped here? Shouldn’t we be going?”
His enthusiasm seemed a little odd to Ford. With so much danger ahead, why was Bozeman so eager? He did not have a woman friend he was trying to rescue – or did he? Would he not have said something by now if he did?
“We won’t be down there,” said Ben. “We need to get you aboard the transports farther back, so Dogs on the other side won't see."
Zeke turned his little motorized shaft around. The canoe began to back slowly upstream against the current. When they came to a gap in the trees, he turned in.
“We can go about a half-mile up this creek before it gets too shallow.” Zeke tapped on his paper map. “Best if we keep our camp in the hollow and do the last three-quarters of a mile to the highway on foot after dark.” Ben nodded.
The creek started out several meters wide but quickly narrowed and meandered within a grassy bottomland. The bottom of the canoe occasionally scraped on rocks or scuffed in the sand of particularly tight bends. The man in front had to push with his paddle to steer the long craft around tight curves.
“I think this is it,” said Zeke. “Too shallow for my prop.”
Ben pointed to a gap between the trees on a steep embankment. "That looks like a good spot to hide while we wait for dark."
The five of them pulled the canoe into the tall grass and cut nearby bushes to disguise it. The afternoon sun was already sinking toward the western bluffs.
“This will be a cold camp, boys,” said Ben. “Can’t risk any fire. You all keep a lookout across the hollow. Pull some of this brush in front of yourselves so you can’t be seen. Zeke and I are going to check things out up on the bluff. Make sure we’re alone.”
The rustling of the two men passing through the woods was quickly absorbed and gone. Only the water of the creek moved in the little hollow.
“You sounded pretty eager to come along,” Ford said to Bozeman.
“Yeah.”
Ford waited for more, but Bozeman showed no sign of forming up a response. "How come? The way you talked before, I would have thought The City was the last place you’d want to go.”
“Hmmm,” was all Bozeman said. He kept studying the trees on the opposite side of the narrow bottomland.
“I mean, I’ve said all along that I wanted to go back. You know why, now. I want to try and get Ada out. I had a pretty strong reason to want to go back. Do you…”
Bozeman turned and gave Ford a wry look. “Are you asking if I have a woman-friend back in The City? No. I have to admit, the women out here have had me all stirred up inside but back in The City? Nothing. They were an alien species.”
Ford let the conversation fade. If Bozeman was coming along out of a sense of friendship, it would be ungrateful to question it. Perhaps he wanted to bring that radio thing back and be a hero to their new people. Bozeman did strike Ford as the sort of personality that would crave adulation.
The brush rustled behind them. Ben and Zeke sidestepped down the steep bank.
“Looks like we’re alone out here,” said Ben. “No sign that Dogs have been through here in weeks or more.”
“Best get hunkered down comfy,” said Zeke as he sat beside a tree. “Got to wait until sunset. Transports don’t run until dark.”
--- --- (end Chapter 13)
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 4, 2020 21:27:39 GMT -6
Good stuff, mic. Feel free to post more any time. Like immediately if not sooner. You've got me strung out on this one, same as you did with your earlier stuff.
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Post by texican on Jan 5, 2020 1:55:38 GMT -6
mic,
The group is close to the City....
Ford may find that ADA does not want to leave the City....
Ivy is waiting back in the woods along the river and will teach Ford what he needs to know.... He will be one wore out guy....
Thanks for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by bluefox2 on Jan 5, 2020 9:04:42 GMT -6
" sniff, Sniff," Mongo think maybe he smell Blackshirt spy. Mongo not like Blackshirt spy.
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Post by mic on Jan 6, 2020 18:29:46 GMT -6
Chapter 14 – Tough Ride (part 1)
Ford, Bozeman, Zeke, and Ben knelt on the embankment of a highway overpass. The night air hung damp and still.
“This reminds me of when I was a boy,” whispered Zeke. “My father used to get so angry at me when he found out I’d been jumping transports.”
“You’ve ridden on these before?” asked Ford.
“I must confess to a bit of such boyish fun myself,” said Ben. “I never rode them far. It was just the challenge of getting aboard without getting laid flat.”
“And back off again,” chuckled Zeke.
“What do you mean ‘laid flat’?” asked Bozeman.
"The shockers," said Zeke. "It's a defense thing they have. The City doesn't want outsiders disabling and dismantling their transports, so they've got some pretty serious shockers at their corners. Anything even close to the size of a man approaching them and burr-zap! Laid flat."
“You didn’t mention anything about this back around the map table,” protested Ford. “You’re only now bringing this up?”
"Pshaw," said Zeke. "They've got zappers, but we've got mylar. It worked when I was a naughty boy. It'll work now. Wrap yourselves in this."
Ford reached out toward the crinkling sound and took a loose roll of mylar.
"There are two pieces there. One for each of you. When we hear them coming, Ben and I will run over to the other side of the bridge and walk slow like a couple deer or bear ambling across the road. Since city folks consider animal life to be sacred, they've programmed their autonomous transports to stop for 'em."
“You’ll have to move fast once they stop,” added Ben. “They don’t stay stopped for long. Approach the back-most transport, wrapped in mylar. There are only two sensors on the back. Once you’ve climbed inside with the concrete chunks, you can take it off. You’ll be inside their perimeter by then.”
“Yeah. Sensors on all four corners,” said Zeke. “There’s a bit of a blind spot in the middle of the long sides, but if you stay inside and you’ll be fine. If you trip a sensor while in motion, their programming will call for a human to check it out. A little periscope camera pops up, and the lights go on. It's never good when the lights go on. Boy, I can remember this one time…"
“Just don’t do it,” interrupted Ben. “Stay inside and don’t move around. Roll up your mylar carefully. You’ll need it to get off the transports too.”
"There's always been a train of them crossing this bridge," said Ben. "They travel all night and stop during the day to recharge their batteries. You should get a good long ways toward The City by morning. It could be another night of travel to get you there."
“Hey, hey. Listen.”
Ford could hear a chord of low hums and a scratching-hissing sound.
“Here they come,” said Ben. “We’ll go stop them. You get aboard quickly. Godspeed, boys. We’re counting on you.” The sound of running footfalls carried through the dark but faded with distance.
“This is it,” Ford said to Bozeman. “Get wrapped up.” After such a quiet evening, the crinkle of mylar sounded like a thunderstorm.
The hum grew louder. Ford could just barely make out pairs of dim red corner lights. Autonomous cargo transports had no need for headlights. They navigated by infrared sensors. The sensors’ lights emitted a little red in the visible spectrum such that the human eye – adjusted to total darkness – could see it.
The big transports rumbled past Ford and Bozeman. One, two, three, four, they began to stop. Five.
“Let’s go.” Ford stood and approached the rear of the fifth transport with caution. He hoped the mylar was enough. He reached the rear rub rail and felt along the side for something to grasp.
“Made it,” said Bozeman.
“I found some handholds,” Ford said as loudly as he dared. “Left side. I’m going up and over.” His mylar crinkled loudly. He hoped the transports did not have audio sensors too. He tossed his bag in first then climbed over.
In the dim blue of late evening, there was just enough light for Ford to survey the truck bed. It was a three by fifteen meter moonscape of slabs, chunks, and rubble. None of it looked like a comfortable place to ride for two days.
As Ford helped Bozeman over the edge, they could hear the lead transport jerk forward with a whir and a clunk. The second truck did the same, then the third. By the time the fourth truck jerked forward, the first truck had repeated the move.
“They must only wait a little while for the animals to get out of the way on their own,” whispered Ford.
“This jerking is probably designed to scare the animals off the road,” replied Bozeman.
In less than a minute, all five trucks resumed humming along through the black night. Ford kept his mylar sheet wrapped around himself to fend off the breeze created by their travels. He could feel their truck drift right, then correct with a swerve to the left. It would slowly drift right before another abrupt corrective move brought it back in line. The motion created a hint of motion sickness.
Maybe the last truck gets the accumulated over-corrections of the ones ahead of it. Number two deviates a bit and number three follows it, going just a bit farther. Number four follows three and… His thoughts were interrupted by another jerk to the right.
“I wonder if we could get on one of the lead trucks,” whispered Ford. “All this swaying and jerking is messing with my stomach.”
“Mine too,” said Bozeman. "But how are we going to move up? It looks like these things drive at least two or three meters apart, and we must be moving at something like eighty kilometers per hour. How are you going to manage that?”
"I don't know. Maybe if they stop for some other animals, we can move up."
Ford’s thoughts were distracted by the change in the tire noise. It grew louder, and a few notes higher in pitch. Against the scatter of stars in the sky, Ford could see the silhouettes of two big arches. They were crossing the bridge.
“We’ll be in Dogs’ country soon,” said Ford.
The tire noise changed back to its former low tone. Ford could sense that the train of trucks was making a gradual turn to the left. From their position in the last vehicle, it felt like minor course corrections to the right, followed by jarring veers to the left. A few minutes after the turn was over, the silhouette of tall bluffs rose on both sides to eclipse sections of stars.
Ford was trying to find a comfortable position amid the chunks of concrete when he felt the truck slow down abruptly. He could hear the faint squeal of brakes from the vehicles ahead of them.
“Heads up,” said Bozeman. “Looks like they did have to stop for some animals. Let’s wrap up and move up. Maybe we can get two trucks ahead if we’re quick.”
Ford peered over the side of the truck's hopper. The transports ahead of them were silhouetted by a flickering yellow glow.
“That’s not animals,” said Ford as he ducked back down. “There’s fire up front.”
“Dogs?”
“Maybe. Your guess is as good as mine,” said Ford.
A bright blue-white flash lit up the trees on the side of the highway. A sharp crackle sound followed.
“Someone must be trying to get onto the trucks,” whispered Bozeman.
Ford peered carefully over the rim of the truck bed. He could see the silhouettes of two men walking over the uneven jumble of concrete in the lead truck. One of them carried a burning torch. Their voices carried in the night air.
“Not in this one,” said a faint voice. “The back one is the other easy one to get on. Let’s look there.”
Footsteps rustled through the long grass of the ditch.
“They’re coming back here,” Ford whispered.
Bozeman drew his knife. “They’re not going to stop me.”
“Okay, get ready,” said a voice from the side of the road.
Ford rose up to peek between two tall fragments of concrete. A man with a scraggly beard stood down on the side of the ditch. He held a torch high in the air. Another man approached the back corner of the truck. He carried what looked like a vertical bundle of branches at the end of a long pole. Amid the tops of the sapling trunks and cut limbs sat a burning rag. From the bottom of the bundle, a chain clinked as it was dragged over the pavement. Two other men, one with a torch, stood behind, poised to run.
The man with the pole approached in hesitant half steps. When he was four or five meters away, a blinding white arc shot out of the corner of their truck. Ford’s eyes recovered from the flash in time to see the pole man running away. The bundle of branches lay at the roadside, burning.
“Quick!” shouted one of the men in the ditch. “It will recharge in just a few seconds.”
The two men hoisted themselves up over the back of the truck. Ford and Bozeman were hidden behind a jagged piece of concrete.
“What makes you think there’s someone on these trucks?” asked one of the men.
“Not sure. Maybe not these ones,” said the other man. The light of the torch swayed back and forth as they clambered over the rubble, searching the truck bed. “All that fuss upriver, shots fired, a lone canoe with five River Rats going downriver, but spotters said it didn’t come down past Dubuque. They’ve got to be up to something. Figured they might be trying to sneak into our territory aboard one of these.”
The light of the torch fell across Bozeman's face. With a yell, Bozeman leaped toward the second man. They both grabbed each other’s knife hand by the wrist. The two of them struggled to topple each other.
Ford rushed around the other side of the slab. He was going to stab the man in the back, but he turned before Ford could get close enough. The man swung his torch back and forth to keep Ford away. The man drew his knife with his other hand. The standoff felt similar to the raider who tried to steal Ivy, except this man had his off hand busy holding a torch.
After vacillating for a moment, the raider threw his torch at Ford. Seeing the man's subtle backswing, Ford expected the throw and shifted right. The torch clattered to a rest amid the chunks.
The man made a grab for Ford, just like the man who tried to steal Ivy. Ford batted his hand down with a closed fist. No interlocking thumbs this time. Ford reached his hand out to grab the raider – more in imitation than a deliberate plan. Both men jabbed at the air and shifted sideways. The loose and irregular footing prevented a good attack by either the raider or Ford.
Voices of other raiders clamored from the roadside. Ford could feel the hair on his arms and neck rise and tickle. A blinding flash silenced them.
The truck jerked forward. Ford and his opponent recovered their footing and resumed their defensive stances. The transport lurched forward again. Bozeman and his opponent continued to try and twist the other off his feet, but they were evenly matched. The truck jerked forward but continued to roll. In his peripheral vision, Ford could see the faces of several men lit by the burning bundle of branches receding behind them. The train of transports was accelerating to highway speeds.
(end 14, pt 1)
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 6, 2020 21:08:20 GMT -6
Throwin' us another curve, huh? Mic, you've got me wonderin' where you're takin' us.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jan 7, 2020 22:46:53 GMT -6
Ford has a slight advantage, if he can use it, with his foreknowledge of the quirkish jerks of the rear transport.
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Post by mic on Jan 8, 2020 19:32:51 GMT -6
9ldrr,: you wouldn't want the story to get all predictable, now would you?
pbbrown0: No fair looking ahead...and how are you doing that? :-)
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Post by mic on Jan 8, 2020 19:58:18 GMT -6
(chapter 14, part 2)
Their truck began to drift right. Ford expected the corrective steering and tensed up his legs for it, a city skill learned to keep upright when the trams stop. His opponent was surprised by the shift and had to scramble to square back up. Ford made a quick stab thrust, not so much to connect with the raider as to keep him on the defensive.
Bozeman and his man jerked and strained to pull the other off balance. The truck veered to the left. Both men struggled to regain their footing before the other. Ford and his man shifted sideways in search of stable footing.
The truck overcorrected and suddenly veered right again. Bozeman and his man both fell over the side. At the distraction, Ford's opponent lunged and grabbed Ford's knife hand. The man made an ill-timed stab at Ford's stomach, allowing Ford to get a grip on the top of his knife hand. The two remained locked, lit by the flickering glow of the fallen torch.
A clunk and a whir distracted both Ford and his man. From the front of the cargo bin, a tall cylinder, (perhaps ten centimeters across) rose until it was a meter tall rod. A bright light clicked on at the top of it, shining forward, the opposite direction from Ford and his man. The light shone on the rear of the yellow transport ahead of them. The light began to pan left.
Both Bozeman and his attacker had managed to grab onto the side of the truck as they fell and were still within the blind spot of the corner shockers. The raider had a better grip and managed to pull himself up first. Once back inside the truck, he found his knife and faced Bozeman who was still clutching at the sides with only one hand and an elbow.
The light from the rod rotated until it shone on the raider’s back. He turned, shielding his eyes with his forearm. Ford felt the hairs on his arm stand up a moment before a white flash and instantaneous hissing and crackling overwhelmed his senses. The twisted rope of electricity struck the raider in the chest. He stiffened, arms and legs outstretched. The spark jumped from his hand to the side of the truck. As the blue light of the flash faded, the man staggered back, his shirt on fire, to fall over the side.
“Boze! Stay down!” Ford shouted. All he could see was Bozeman’s fingers. He hoped the camera could not see that.
The light continued to rotate toward Ford. He dropped onto his back behind the vertical slab of concrete, pulling his man over him. The raider looked more perplexed than determined. Ford saw the light move onto the man's butt and legs. Ford pulled one foot up into the man's waist and pushed. At the same time, he jerked his arms down, breaking the man's grip.
The man stood, facing the light with a wide-eyed stare. Ford felt his arm hairs rise again. He closed his eyes to avoid being blinded. The sharp crack shook the air. When he opened his eyes again, a glowing ring of embers grew in the center of the man's shirt. He stumbled back a few steps, flailing his arms, before falling over the back of the truck.
Ford stayed down behind the concrete slab. The light continued until it had swept a 360 of the truck. The light went back the other way until it was facing forward again. The light winked out, but the rod stayed up. On the transport ahead of them, a spotlight popped on and began a 360 sweep of that truck.
There must be human operators behind those. All the shocks must have alerted someone who is now checking things out.
Ford crawled over to the side. He could see Bozeman’s fingers gripping the chipped yellow paint.
"Quick. We've got to get back behind cover," said Ford. He pulled at Bozeman's arm until his companion could get a leg swung up to the rim. "Hurry. Behind that slab!"
The two clambered over the sharp and angled chunks of concrete then sat and pressed their backs to the slab.
The light on their truck flicked on again. It swept a slow 360 over the load of rubble before winking out. Both men exhaled deeply.
“I thought I was dead at least twice,” said Bozeman. His body swayed in jerks and bounces as the truck continued to drift back and forth. “I lost my knife.”
“I think I see it,” said Ford. He cast a wary eye on the rod before reaching between two large chunks. It was not Bozeman’s knife but that of the raider.
"This torch fire actually feels pretty good, but it's almost burned down," said Ford. He used a broken board to pull it closer to them. "Look, there are some sticks and pieces of wood along the sides. Let's see if we can keep this fire going. It beats being cold."
They propped the burning stub between three head-sized chunks of cement and fed sticks on top of it. Within a few minutes, they had a cozy fire. Both leaned back against the slab and let out a sigh.
“I sure hope this whole trip isn’t going to be like that,” said Bozeman.
“I was thinking we would be bored silly, riding hundreds of kilometers in the dark,” said Ford.
“Sign me up for some boredom,” said Bozeman.
They both pulled their mylar sheets around their backs and shoulders to break the wind chill of their highway speed. Hands and feet were stretched out to the jumping flames.
“If we keep this fire relatively low,” said Ford, “it might not be visible from the road. Given how low the stars are, the land out here must be pretty flat.”
“This fire feels great. I welcome a little comfort. It will help us to think about our moves once we get inside The City.”
Ford shook his head. “I have to confess, this whole idea of going back was my idea but I never…well, I had never once thought about how to steal a radio from the blackshirts. Ben and Zeke and the others seem to think I know how to do that. Why would I have ever thought about something like that?”
“Actually, I’ve been doing some thinking there,” said Bozeman. “For all the time I had to spend at the air node between salvage missions, I had time to make a note of what our…dignified foreman said and did. He had a way about him – a certain get-out-of-my-way attitude that I noticed other workers didn't question."
“You think we can just bluster our way inside and take a radio?”
"Not that simple, and I don't think Zeke really means a radio. He kept saying that, but I think he means a transmitter. These lifters don’t constantly send voice traffic back to The City. I don’t think our lifter even had a radio. They do, however, constantly send and receive data via their uplinks. I think Zeke needs an uplink transmitter.”
“Changing the name doesn’t make the task any easier,” protested Ford.
“I know, I know. I just think we should be precise. Anyhow, I also overheard 99 say things like, ‘This is a 1053,’ when he needed a part for his lifter. Even other managers would cringe.”
“What’s a 1053?”
“Ell if I know,” said Bozeman. “Whatever it is, the other workers and managers seemed to be in a hurry to comply. I’m thinking we can pull a couple 1053s on people and get us an uplink.”
“And then we go get Ada.”
“Yeah, about that. I’d been meaning to ask you; what if you can’t find her? I mean, how long would you look if she’s not where you think she is?” Do you look for a day? Two? How long before the system gets onto us?”
Ford stared at the fire. “Nothing changes that fast in The City. She’ll be there.” He tried to sound confident, but he had already wondered if she might have been a exiled to the farms for being associated with him. Or, what if she were demoted to Carrier and reassigned to one of the women's wards? He really did not know.
“Okay. Let's say you're right,” conceded Bozeman, “and you do find her. What if she doesn’t want to come with you?”
“What? Why would you…”
“Just thinking out loud. Don’t get all in a huff. I mean, you’ve been talking all along about how you were going to go back, and you were going to bring her out.”
“That’s right and I will.” Ford felt defensive about someone presuming he would fail.
“I know, I know. Settle down. I just mean that I’ve heard all about how you want to get her out; how you don’t like The City.”
“Well, do you?”
Bozeman shook his head as he added more board fragments to the little fire. “That’s beside the point. You know I hate The City. I know you do. But that's you and me. I haven't heard you talk about Ada wanting out."
"Why wouldn't she? She's told me how the upper-class women hold power over the Cleaners, Tenders, and Carriers, dictating every facet of their lives. She doesn't like it. She told me.”
“Ah, there, ya see? You never said that part before. Maybe Ada would like to get out.”
"Of course, she would." Ford frowned at his lap.
“But then…”
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“Just talking. What else is there to do out here in the middle of total-black-nowhere?”
They rode along for many long minutes, swaying back and forth as the last truck in the train continued to overcorrect its steering. The fully laden truck would occasionally bottom out on its springs, giving the young men a bone-jarring bounce.
“But then, what?” Ford asked. The unfinished thought gnawed at his confidence.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”
“Oh, don’t get all clever. But then, what?”
“Well, I was just thinking that there are, what, three hundred and twelve million people living in The City? Maybe a million of ‘em are Matri or upper classes? They’re happy, of course.” Bozeman spoke slowly, like someone beating around the bush.
“Sure, they get whatever they want. Why wouldn’t they be happy?”
“That leaves three hundred and eleven million who probably aren’t all that happy.”
“Most of them are dumb and numb from the water,” said Ford. “My roommate, Ninn, hardly knew if I was in the room. I’m not even sure he could taste his meals. You might as well wonder if doorknobs are happy. They don't know happiness or sadness. All they know is whether their belly is full or empty. After that, all that matters to them is that they’re sufficiently entertained."
“That was kind of my point. Most people don’t want out of The City. You know it’s bad. I know it’s bad, but most of that three hundred and eleven million don’t know or care. As long as they can get a meal with sauce, as long as The City gives them a place to sleep, clothes, videos – everything they’ve been told they need – then why leave?”
“Sure, The City gives us all that stuff,” said Ford, “but we…they…have no freedom. The City tells them what work they'll do, where they’ll live and where they can go. No one gets a choice in anything except -- if you're obedient -- what color of sauce you get on your meal disk. If the Matri decide that they don't like you, they can take away your food, your water, your clothes, your apartment, everything, and send you to the mines.”
Bozeman half-glanced at Ford. “And yet, how many people did you know who were so upset at the lack of freedom that they said they wanted out?”
Ford glowered at his lap again.
“I mean, did this Ada actually say she wanted out?”
Ford scratched his head. Had she? He tried to recall their furtive conversations. They were mostly about sensory things: smells, colors, and sounds. She complained about the oppressive rules the Organizers imposed on them. Her floor supervisor was always threatening to report her if she did not do her little favors.
“I don’t think Ada actually said so in those exact words.”
Bozeman began to nod.
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Ford quickly added. “I never actually said I wanted out either.”
His mind chased phantoms down mental rat holes. He never did actually imagine living outside of The City. The Outside was a scary place full of dangerous wild animals. At best, he had pictured being left alone inside The City to live a quiet life with a little freedom. His biggest dream was to talk to Ada without fear and grow a bigger roof garden.
“I didn’t think about the Outside,” continued Ford. “I never thought about it. I’ll bet that Ada never thought about it either.”
“That’s kind of what I…”
The light of the periscope camera came on again. Both men pressed their backs tight up against the concrete slab and made sure their knees and elbows were pulled in. Both gestured to each other to keep quiet. The light panned back and forth over the broken chunks of the truck’s cargo. It stopped, shining on the slab that both men hid behind.
“Do you think they know?” Bozeman whispered, barely audible.
Ford shook his head.
A loud hiss was followed by a thick cloud of dusty smoke. The smoke swirled around their slab. Both men had to gag down their reflex to cough. Their fire quickly died. The light went off.
Ford slumped. “They were probably just checking on the trucks after the earlier trouble and saw fire.”
“Aww. They put out our fire.” Bozeman sounded like a little boy who did not get dessert.
“We’d better just cover up and try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long and bumpy night.”
(end 14)
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 8, 2020 21:08:57 GMT -6
9ldrr,: you wouldn't want the story to get all predictable, now would you? pbbrown0: No fair looking ahead...and how are you doing that? :-) Looking ahead is easy, if expensive. California Psychics charges $4 to $15/minute (the $1/minute in their ad is just for your first call, but you need to be up close to a 50" or bigger TV to be able to read the fine print). For $15/minute, they should be able to answer anything ;-)
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Post by texican on Jan 8, 2020 21:15:02 GMT -6
I know it’s bad, but most of that three hundred and eleven million don’t know or care. As long as they can get a meal with sauce, as long as The City gives them a place to sleep, clothes, videos – everything they’ve been told they need – then why leave?”
Similar to what we have now....
Just let the EBT cards not work and the riots start.... Keep the masses happy and dumb....
Thanks for the chapter mic....
Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 9, 2020 11:01:53 GMT -6
I know it’s bad, but most of that three hundred and eleven million don’t know or care. As long as they can get a meal with sauce, as long as The City gives them a place to sleep, clothes, videos – everything they’ve been told they need – then why leave?”Similar to what we have now.... Just let the EBT cards not work and the riots start.... Keep the masses happy and dumb.... Texican.... Quite true today, EBT riots, I mean. But, imagine 60-70 more years of total dependency AND domination by a single-party government. The masses will whimper quietly if deprived but never rebel. That would be the desired goal of nanny-states, would it not?
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jan 9, 2020 12:50:02 GMT -6
"It is crucial to keep your tools and your tool skills sharpened and well oiled. Otherwise, they will fail you just when you need them the most. The best and most important tool you have in preparing for whatever might come is your brain."
I read what you write and practice thinking, "what if I was in that situation?"
Great chapters, Mic. I am thoroughly enjoying this story.
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 9, 2020 12:53:35 GMT -6
I doubt strongly if people here in the states would or could be bothered enough to rebel. Things are much worse here now than before the revolutionary war and people just whine and complain then hold their hand out.
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 9, 2020 13:07:56 GMT -6
I doubt strongly if people here in the states would or could be bothered enough to rebel. Things are much worse here now than before the revolutionary war and people just whine and complain then hold their hand out. There was much less "holding their hand out" in pre-Revolutionary War days - folks were expected to do what was needed to care for themselves unless seriously ill or injured. No "but the okra makes me itch" excuses. If okra makes you itch, plant something else.
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Post by NCWEBNUT on Jan 9, 2020 16:04:00 GMT -6
Okra makes me itch too, but man I love that stuff breaded and fried, so I ignore the itching to cut it every day some times
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Post by mic on Jan 9, 2020 19:18:02 GMT -6
Okra makes me itch too, but man I love that stuff breaded and fried, so I ignore the itching to cut it every day some times Okra makes people itch? When did this happen? I love fried okra. I've never been able to recreate my grandmother's version of it, but I keep trying.
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 9, 2020 21:21:00 GMT -6
Instead of okra, can we talk about real food?
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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 Jan 9, 2020 21:26:31 GMT -6
Y'all talk about okra all y'all want to, just PLEASE don't bring up okra boiled in its own snot! That's the only way my daddy liked it, and so we all had to eat boiled okra and for me, well, I guess it liked my goozle so much it just had to make 3-4 trips before it'd stay down! Even thinking about it now has me off any desire to eat something.
Other than that, enjoying this tale very much! Thanks!
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 9, 2020 21:48:21 GMT -6
Okra makes me itch too, but man I love that stuff breaded and fried, so I ignore the itching to cut it every day some times Okra makes people itch? When did this happen? I love fried okra. I've never been able to recreate my grandmother's version of it, but I keep trying. The fine hairs on the pods when they're picked. Bothers some people but not others.
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