The Second Intelligent Species: The Cyclical Earth (21 page)
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Authors: Dale Langlois
“If we were going to kill you, we would have done it by now. We only use the gun for self defense, so you tell anyone in your party that’s interested
in starting any shit, that we’ve killed already and aren’t afraid to do it again,” Pete said. He had his lamp off, and my torch was all wet and wouldn’t light, so I couldn’t see his face. Apparently they were used to walking in the dark as well.
Sensing that he didn’t quite trust me either, I said, “I can assure you, you have no reason to worry. We have found a way to find food without eating each other, or anybody else. We even have some extra in case you’re hungry, but not a lot.”
The winds were beginning to pick up again, giving away the location of the others. Jorge yelled out, “You got fresh meat?” as the aroma of supper drifted our way.
We neared the driveway that led to the steel tool shed. “What have you guys been eating?” I asked.
Pete answered for the duo again. “Mostly animal grain from farm silos. Cans of food when we can find them… pretty picked over near the cities. Plus it’s too dangerous there. We ate mushrooms until it got cold. There ain’t no mushrooms no more.”
It struck me funny that I never thought to cut into one of those silos. I’d seen them. I just forgot that they have grain. Apparently the grain in them wasn’t as subject to the dampness that molded the corn in other silos. The corn in the steel silos must
have been dried before it was stored, while the other corn still had moisture in it.
As we walked down the drive of the farm, no longer recognizable, the talking ceased. We walked past the empty cellar of the once proud home, handed down generation to generation. Past the rusting pickups, tractors, and a combine that was now sitting on equally rusted rims. There was no silo, this was not a farm that raised animals. I wasn’t sure what crop they had raised, and there wasn’t much machinery that I recognized.
I could hear the now familiar bickering between Beth and Sarah growing louder as we neared the shed—not because we were getting closer, but because their argument was intensifying. Both of them kept their distance when I was around but when I was gone for awhile, then no holds barred.
“Ladies, could you please use your inside voice? We have company,” I said as the four of us walked into the light of the fire.
My request was fulfilled with immediate silence.
“Gentlemen, this is our group. These three ladies are all nurses. Beth here is my wife. This is Maria, and this is Sarah.”
Both women said, “Hello.”
Both men said, “Hi.”
“You’ve met Marcos. Over there under those furs are Tara, and Eve. They’re just young children,
orphans. And that’s it. We had two children taken by cannibals upstate.” After that I was temporarily speechless. I regained my composure. “Oh, everyone this is Pete and this is….” I had forgotten his name, I knew it was something Hispanic, but couldn’t remember.
“Jorge, Jorge Hernandez,” he said, nodding as he looked directly at Maria and smiled.
She returned the smile, but with a far less tooth-to-mouth ratio.
Sarah blurted, “How do you spell that?
“J-O-R-G-E” he said, carefully enunciating each letter.
“Oh, George?” she said.
“See I told ya,” said Pete, as he punched the little guy in the arm.
Feeling I was left out of the joke, I said, “There’s some beaver jerky if you’re hungry.” As a host, I had never offered my guests this before and felt kind of funny hearing it out loud. “Eat what you want, there’re more swimming around in the swamp.”
“Maria made some fresh rat stew… just like Mom used to make,” Beth said, barely holding back the laughter.
Then the other two women broke out into uncontrollable laughter.
“Here, have some cattail bread to go with it. Yumm,” Maria said sarcastically, rubbing her tummy in a clockwise motion.
Not being a great fan of cattail bread I too started laughing.
Now Tara and Eve were up and wanted to become part of the fun. They each began laughing without even knowing what we were laughing about.
I looked over at Pete and Jorge; the contagious laughter infected everyone.
Jorge’s large smile was ever widening as he reached into his backpack. “I have some cow grain,” he said.
I don’t believe there is a term for the type of humor that was making us laugh, neither irony, nor sarcasm. More some sick type of humor that only can be appreciated if one suffers from posttraumatic stress disorder. In retrospect, it wasn’t that funny.
Both men sat down at our fire and ate what we could offer them without complaint or criticism.
Pete took a break from eating and wiped his mouth on what remained of a sleeve. “Thank you for the meal. We haven’t had fresh meat besides mice since we killed a coyote about six months or so ago. We’ve been eating this animal grain. We’ve
still got some more left; it’s all yours in appreciation of your hospitality.”
“It’s our pleasure. You boys said you were from Kentucky?”
“We’re both coal miners,” Pete said.
Beth spun around, “I thought there weren’t any coal mines in operation anymore. I thought coal wasn’t used now days.
Pete shook his head. “No, our mine and one other were still in operation, they’re harvesting what they can for the World’s Contingency Plan. We were at work when it started and we still don’t know what to hell is going on. All we know is everyone with a lick of brains is dead. You’re the first people we’ve come across since we decided to go around the cities and stay out in the country. Those left in the cities aren’t going to make it. Once they’re done feeding on each other, then they’ll be dead too, they’ll be out of food. Then maybe we can go back in and use what we can.”
“You haven’t seen military or Red Cross or anything?” Beth asked.
“Nothing. The only other people we’ve come across attacked us, and I had to kill two of them to keep them from taking George too. They dragged off another guy who survived the mine collapse with us. He was hurt and couldn’t fight back. George and I ran for our lives when I almost ran out of shells.”
“So you only have one bullet for the gun now?” Sarah said with her usual bitter tone.
“We used that one to kill the coyote. Why else do you think I let George carry it? The gun’s just a deterrent.” Both he and Jorge laughed. He turned his attention to me. “You seem to be doing quite well. I never thought about catching beavers. I didn’t think many other animals made it. I thought the coyote was a freak thing. We didn’t dare eat rats, with all the disease and such.” He stirred the remainder of the rat stew.
Maria surprised everyone by speaking. “We only eat the rats out in the country, near old farms, never near a city. There must be epidemics in the cities. It didn’t seem to be a safe place for the children.” She shocked all of us that had been with her through it all. Since I’d known her, I’d never heard her interject. She only spoke when spoken to.
“Were you a nurse too?” asked Jorge.
“Yes, and I still am,” she said smiling.
“A very beautiful one too, if you don’t mind me saying.” Jorge was smiling wide, head down, but looking up in anticipation of her response.
“Not at all. Thank you, Jorge.” Maria shyly looked away.
“This stew is the best I ever had too,” Jorge said, this time with his head held high.
“Thank you again, Jorge.” Maria smiled as wide as he did.
Beth cleared her throat and asked, “Have you heard any planes or helicopters?”
I sensed that she was getting annoyed with their flirting. I guess it had been some time since I’d flirted with Beth, but in these conditions flirting hadn’t been on my mind much.
“No, nothing like that,” Pete said. “Do you know what happened? It was terrorists, wasn‘t it?”
“We’re not sure of anything, but my best guess is that a meteor or comet hit somewhere, and this is what is left.” Beth was the only one in our group who might have a clue.
“They can do that?” Pete asked.
“Scientist’s know that was one of the contributing factors that led to the extinction of the dinosaurs. I can see how this would have done it. This would have been enough.” She shook her head as she looked off into the darkness.
“Would it be like this all over the world?” Pete asked.
She blew on her hands to warm them. “I don’t know. We haven’t met anyone with any answers either. It’s possible, I guess. I don’t know… I hope not.”
The extra help proved to be invaluable. Wood could be gathered while traps were being set. Now that Pete and Jorge were with us, the chores per person were reduced. We were eating better, and we always had dry wood for the fire.
Before they showed up, sleep was a luxury. When Marcos and I weren’t collecting wood, we were setting or checking traps, building shelters, or this or that. There was always a chore to do. When the two of us stumbled on a swamp where the beaver were plentiful, there wasn’t time to set and check traps, plus clean the animals and flesh out the firs, so the women took on that grizzly task. Actually, once I showed them how to do it, they became proficient. I found they would save more meat and do a better job fleshing the pelts. This too became part of their daily routine. They also gathered wood around camp, cooked meals and cared for the children.
Once all the work was done, we had time to sit around the fire and talk. It was a big deal that we had new people with new stories and ideas.
They were just as intrigued as we were with new tales. The conversations were split between before and after. This was healing we hadn’t had time for before.
Several different topics were discussed around the fire. Often we threw around ideas related to surviving: where to put out traps, new ways to preserve meat, or build torches. This was a good time to plan the workload for the next day.
Sometimes we’d speculate about what civilization would be like in five years. Of course this all depended on how many survived.
When everyone’s belly was full, and nobody was thirsty, and everyone was warm, those were the times we began to cherish.
We enjoyed the babies more. Eve was talking, and Tara was a bundle of trouble. Her curiosities were insatiable.
Marcos was more of a man than a child. I don’t think we could have made it this far without him. Now he could go back to being a kid.
Once, when we were all sitting around the fire, watching the children, a break came in the sky. We could see sunbeams coming through the clouds at first. Then we caught a glimpse of the sun. Not all of it, just a fraction. That was all it took to make every one of us raise our hands in unison to cover our eyes. The brightness hurt, but
we each took a quick peek to reassure ourselves. The moment was the spark that lit the fire of hope.
Fleeting joy was replaced with horror now that we saw the landscape clearly. It looked like ancient black and white photographs of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or Geneva. Trees with only the largest limbs remained, surrounded by debris. Anything metal was rusted, though no twisted metal could be seen like at the places nuclear bombs were detonated.
Again I saw a water tower in the distance, but this time it wasn’t worth the walk. We had learned to sustain our needs without the infrastructure of the past. We’d learned to purify water without relying on artificial aqueducts. We’d learned to find food without going to the nearest 7-11. Our animal instincts, along with the combined knowledge attained through past experiences, brought us to this stage of survival.
We had survived, and would probably continue to survive. We came to the conclusion that we were the beginning of the next age of man. We would have to rebuild the world. Any history recorded from this point backwards would be our responsibility and of our choosing. For the first time in history, the opportunity to change the world for the better, eliminating the mistakes of the past,
had been given to one generation. We came to the conclusion that it was better to learn how to live in this world than to keep trying to find the old one.