A Long Time Until Now (21 page)

“Good.”

Oglesby said, “They’re called the Urushu. Singular and collective both.”

“Got it,” Spencer said. “Urushu.”

If there was anything Elliott was going to thank God for every day, it was that he had troops with these skills. Without them, they’d be reduced to living with the Paleos and depending on charity. This world was so alien to him it might as well be another planet, but Alexander, Spencer, Caswell and Barker knew how to make it work.

“Okay, formation for the evening. Everyone listening?” He looked up to Caswell and Ortiz on watch. They thumbed up. “Good. Sergeant Alexander is going to be our admin, logistics, armorer and readiness NCO. Go ahead, Alexander.”

She looked around, stepped slightly forward, and spoke.

“Just as the lieutenant says, we must account for everything. I’ll be using Number Nine as the HQ, office, armory, whatever. Everything will be stashed in there. If you need something, see me first. If I’m not around, neatly take what you need and log it. There will be an open notepad on the laptop. Don’t try to update the spreadsheets. I’ll do that. Just write it and sign it so I can look you up if I need to.”

She stepped back. There was muttered assent and hooahs. Everyone seemed to understand.

“Let me reiterate,” he said. “I know a lot of you don’t think of admin as serious. It is. The Romans became the world power they were because of documentation. Otherwise, everyone else was barely above our neighbors here.” Emotionally, he wasn’t convinced, but mentally, he knew she was right, and that he’d appreciate it in future.

That got quiet but attentive nods.

She added, “I can log enough information we can find a growing season. That means better food. I can map out salt, rock, timber, edibles. I’ll have walking times to reach them. Everything. It means you won’t have to scratch your head and think, or try to find someone else. I’ll have the info. You just have to give it to me.”

They seemed to understand.

She said, “Look, let me give you background. Some of you know this, but I don’t want to tell the whole story ten times. I was active duty Air Force in the early nineties. Airborne Intel equipment operator aboard an AWACS. I came back in the Army Guard after September Eleventh. I’ve been in Iraq, Kosovo and here. I’m a photographer and an admin, and I have college degrees in management. But I’ve got bad ankles, bad knees, bad wrists and thyroid problems. My medication will last about three months. After that,” she sighed. “After that, my memory will get fucked up badly, my attention will slip, I’ll have trouble sleeping, my blood sugar will get chaotic, and I’ll probably gain weight, too.”

She sounded tired just from sharing that.

Next to him, Dalton muttered, “Can Caswell make a wooden wheelchair?”

She heard him.

“Corporal, when you’ve survived a forced landing in an E Three, a car wreck, two kids, surgeries on your joints and are forty-three years old, you get back to me.”

Elliott cut in fast. “Yeah, easy on the jokes. We’re all going to get old and worn out,” he said, with a firm glance at Dalton.

“Sorry,” he said. “Bad attempt at humor.”

She said, “Accepted. And I’m sorry to be sensitive about it. For now, I can keep up, and there may be some dietary workarounds. I can use an axe. I can haul wood.”

“Good.” Was there any way to work around that medication? Probably not. And yes, he was assuming they were here for life, because he didn’t think there was anything they could do about getting back. He had no idea how they got here, so getting back was the second problem, and he didn’t think they had any control over it. And there was something else, but he couldn’t remember it.

Armand Devereaux was on watch at sunrise two days later, ready to grab a bite. They had fifteen feet of the north wall done, the corner reinforced with a mound of earth and two buttresses. He felt a bit more secure.

Off to the closed side, he saw movement, and called, “Natives approaching from the west. Five people, three with spears.” They didn’t seem troubled, but they weren’t really enough for a hunting party.

Caswell and Dalton went out to meet them through what would eventually be the front gate, but for now was a framed opening with a sill. He kept them covered from the hatch.

Caswell was good. She graciously offered to carry their spears, and then they were disarmed. She came in and stowed them in Number Nine, along the floor.

“I think you’re needed,” she said. “I get the impression one of them is sick.”

“Okay, want to cover me?”

Barker clattered up and said, “I will.” He climbed up the outside as Armand wiggled down inside.

Caswell was back and talking to the woman, with Oglesby translating. He was getting pretty good at their language, and maybe they should all learn some. Something might happen to him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Oglesby said, “This is Ai!ee. She’s been cursed with illness in her genitals. They stay inflamed and leak poop smell, I gather.” He blushed.

Caswell said, “Oh, goddammit. Ulceration of the vaginal canal. Happens in Africa. The women tend to work until they pop. Strain can cause abrasion, and then add in delivery. The tear is from the vaginal canal to the rectum.”

That wasn’t something he was trained for.

“So she’s leaking feces through a fistula.”

“Basically, yes.”

He thought about it. He wanted a reference book, but that sounded straightforward enough. “I can do minor surgery. My concern is sterility, anesthetic, and I’ve never done a procedure like that. Sort of a high-end episiotomy repair.”

Caswell said, “I’ll help.”

“First you’ve got to explain it to her.”

Oglesby was clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Okay, what do I need to say?”

“First I need a look. Caswell, do you know what we’re looking for?”

“Sort of.”

They led Ai!ee into the back of Number Eight, and he grabbed a flashlight.

“I don’t have anything resembling a speculum,” he said, as Ai!ee pulled her skirt aside and leaned back.

“Spoons,” Caswell said, and ran to grab two MRE spoons.

Using those to spread her hair, her labia, and the vaginal canal, he could see a discolored area, and got a definite whiff of bowel.

“That’s it, yes?”

Caswell bent over and took a look.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay, we’ll do surgery. We can fix it with knives and sutures. She has to purify herself for two days with only water. Then she must purify herself afterward with a special diet. This is in accordance with the spirits.”

Oglesby spoke slowly to Ai!ee and her friend. It took a good fifteen minutes back and forth, between him and them, and then between each other, to come to an agreement.

“She asks if you can actually fix an inside tear. They seem to know what the problem is.”

“Tell her yes, we can do it. It will be sore, and it will have to heal, but it’s doable.”

After a few more minutes, Oglesby said, “She asks about fever spirits.”

“We should be able to keep fever and infection controlled. We can’t guarantee it, but we’ll work hard on it, and the spirits often listen to us.”

“She says she will bring two speakers with her, to talk to the spirits. They will also guard her to make sure she stays pure. She asked about her family. I said they should pray at home, that separation increased the odds.”

Caswell said, “Good, we don’t need spectators. We will also wash her with special soap against the spirits, when she returns.”

There were some pleasantries which he took in with half his mind, while trying to remember more about this type of thing. If he opened the edges of the tear and sutured it closed, it should heal. He didn’t know much about plastic surgery.

Caswell seemed to have some idea. He’d need to talk to her.

The natives had brought some sausage, stuffed into cleaned animal intestines, and a decorated hide that obviously was significant to them. He smiled and thanked them, and did look at it for a few moments. It held geometric designs and images of stick figures.

Caswell retrieved their spears and sent them on their way.

He said, “I need to figure out how to do this.”

She said, “We need to make it ritualistic.”

“Well, we have clean clothes, gloves, masks, hats. That’s pretty ritualistic. But I meant the surgical process.”

Oglesby said, “Sorry I’m twitchy about it. I really don’t like stuff that personal.”

“You did fine.”

“Thanks. And they said there’s salt north and east of here, toward that rise.”

Barker overheard and came over. “Really?”

“‘Blood rock,’ they call it. Salt.”

“Goddamn, we’re in business.”

“Yeah, that’ll be a nice plus.”

“It’s not just a plus. Cooking. Food preservation. Curing leather. Several other processes. We need salt. I’d even think about taking a vehicle, but we probably can’t risk it. We’ll need a sizeable party or several trips, though.”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad the information helped.” He still sounded embarrassed.

Spencer arrived and said, “Yeah, I need that, too, and it’s just possible there’s coal around. Otherwise, we have to do a charcoal burn. And by that, I mean several tons of wood.”

“One thing at a time, dude.”

“Yeah, I know. And bone meal. Nice, tasty bone meal to settle my stomach.”

Armand asked, “Having trouble?”

“Not yet. I have enough Zantac to last another three months. But once it’s gone, it’s gone. I thought we discussed this.”

“Ah, you want to test the idea first. Very wise, old man.”

“Thanks. And I’m not an old man, boy.”

“Heh. Sergeant, I’m trying to figure out how to do OB-GYN surgery on an injured woman. My brain isn’t all there.”

“No problem. You work on that, I’ll find something to chop.”

Regina had Number Nine full in short order, with the solar panel up top and the laptop up near the turret. She brought the panel in at night and during rain, religiously. Once that was gone, they had no power unless they burned fuel. Her charger could handle batteries for Spencer’s two flashlights and night vision, her own flashlight and camera powerpacks, her laptop, and it could trickle charge the truck batteries. It would also handle AAs, as would the small 110v charger Caswell had, with six batteries that worked in two more flashlights. With her USB kit she could charge all the phones and tablets.

She set up a schedule to keep the phones going, since those served as entertainment, note-taking devices, clocks, alarms and nightlights. The night vision in the trucks and on Spencer’s rifle had to be kept up for security. The lights would only need periodic charging. The other lights would all be useless once their batteries were exhausted. She had a bin for them, and spreadsheeted them by brand in case any spare parts could be scavenged. Otherwise, they were sturdy, waterproof containers.

Pens, pencils and paper were precious, but as long as their devices worked, they could use those.

There was probably some way to rig a wireless network. She’d covered that briefly in school, and tried to recall if she had enough equipment here to create a wireless router. It wouldn’t have much range, but photos from the perimeter, and text messages, could be useful during any kind of attack.

The biggest page, though, was a list of projects, chores and tasks. It was huge. They all pulled sentry duty every day and a half. They might decide that wasn’t necessary, but for now, they were still scared of animals. The wolves patrolled regularly, the lions stayed in the area, and there’d been leopards sighted.

She had CAD software, and Elliott had been using that for design. She cracked it and ripped a copy for his computer. Then she cracked and ripped every program she had, copyright being no longer an issue, and backups being desirable. Then she decided to do everyone’s systems. When she announced at evening formation, there were some astute nods. Yes, sharing all the software possible increased their resources and their recreation. But how long would the systems last? It was unlikely any of them would still work in a decade.

The laptop sat at on an ammo crate at a slight angle due to the lean of the truck, and she propped it with a stick she shaved flat on two sides. She kept her weapon next to her, and there was the box of cricket and ball bats, clubs and irons known as Hajji-Be-Good. Melee weapons were still useful. There were also a glove and a ball, but no one wanted to risk losing them in the rough terrain. Maybe someday they’d clear a field.

The third day of her glamorous duty, she came in to find an ugly, flashing malware banner demanding she pay for “viruschek” or “stay infected.”

“Hey, LT!” she called.

He stuck his head around from the side a moment later and asked, “Yeah?”

“The laptop has a virus. How did that happen?”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s pretty obvious.” She pointed to the screen.

“Oglesby was in here last night, right?”

“Yes. Thanks, sir. Hey, Oglesby! Come here!”

He trotted over.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Did you have a geekstick plugged in here last night?”

“Uh . . . yes.” He flushed red.

She held out her palm and made the gesture for him to hand it over. Then she looked at the gawkers.

“Shoo!” she said.

The problem was she needed a boot disk to fix it, and didn’t have one. But she had her own flash drives, and she used the LT’s laptop to make a clean boot file.

Once she had it up in boot mode, banishing the malware still took two passes. She had to remove the root, then it changed names to “Save” her from itself. And without any online references, she was cracking from scratch. But it worked. Then she had to remote scan his drive.

Five minutes later, she knew was right on both suspicions. Oglesby’s flash contained porn, and some of it had been swapped for in theater, and was corrupted. As soon as he’d opened that file, the system was toast.

She scanned through the porn. It was pretty typical, nothing that made her twitch. Lesbians, blowjobs, fucking. She found the dirty file, killed it, checked it was gone entirely, and scanned again.

Once done, with the files back and not corrupted, she said, “Oglesby, here! You lost one corrupted file.”