Read The Second Intelligent Species: The Cyclical Earth Online
Authors: Dale Langlois
The Second Intelligent Species: The Cyclical Earth (18 page)
We traveled an estimated two hundred miles south: shelter to shelter, swamp to swamp, garden to garden, and tank to tank, occasionally picking through rubble for supplies needed. Cold weather followed. There was still no sun to warm the air in the day; clouds blocked its life-giving rays. We’d stay in an area as long as the meat held out. We were eating a lot better since we’d learned to trap for food. Soon fresh meat was part of our daily menu. Every stream, meandering river, or swamp would be explored. Less traveling used less fuel.
On one trip between shelters, we stopped near a bridge to eat. The turtles we collected were to be the main course. Because of the cold weather, they seldom moved, and we wanted to eat them while they were still fresh. One could die, and we wouldn’t even be able to tell. I was in the mood for something different anyway.
I butchered the reptiles and threw them in a pot with potatoes and carrots and onions. As
they simmered, the aroma coming out of the kettle wasn’t what I was expecting. The lobster-like sweetness we had anticipated was substituted by a very fishy odor. A scum developed at the top of the stew. I skimmed most of it off, but could do nothing about the smell. Steam enveloped all who stood by the fire to warm themselves.
“That smells horrible. How in the hell are we going to eat that?” Sarah waved her hand in front of her nose. “All we did with those stinking turtles was to waste the potatoes and carrots. Nobody is going to eat any of that.”
I had to agree with her. I have eaten many different things, but was willing to go hungry tonight.
No matter how long it cooked, the odor lingered. The vegetables were getting mushy so we figured: this was the best it was going to get. We ladled half a bowl each just to try it. We all blew on the steaming meal.
I took a taste of the meat, very chewy with a distinct fishy taste. I blew in and out to cool it faster. It was burning my mouth.
“Take your time. Nobody is going to take it from you,” Beth said.
Sarah continued to cool her share.
Maria was busy saying grace. “Thank you Lord for this food I am about to receive.” She did stir the concoction and immediately returned her
hands to a praying position. “Please protect us from sickness while we consume your blessing. Amen.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beth said. “You would give thanks to a God who you think caused this whole thing, especially when this is looking you in the eye?” The angry atheist spooned the stew high enough above her bowl to give Maria a good look at the slop we were about to eat.
“We wouldn’t have this if God hadn’t led us to it. Everything that has happened is his will. He didn’t cause it, but did allow it to happen for a reason that we aren’t meant to understand.” Maria took out one of her last remaining cigarettes and lit it up. The conversation went silent as she savored the initial puff. The cherry of her smoke wiggled as she shook. “And if I want to thank him, I’m going to!” Smoke billowed out of her mouth as she spoke.
“And you say it was your God’s will that all those we knew and loved burned to death? Are you still going to hold on to those old stories? What happened here is a natural occurrence. This happened sixty-five million years ago. Now it has happened again. God had nothing to do with it. Did your God do this same thing to get rid of the dinosaurs? Sorry Maria but I just can’t buy it.” Her hands shook as she blew on her lunch. “We just fucked up and stopped looking for shit. The politicians
are the ones to blame. They’re the ones who cut NASA’s budget. Was this God’s long-term plan to punish mankind? Bullshit!” Her stew went into the fire.
Steam rose from the embers, it hissed and snapped while the rest of us went silent. “Come on Marcos; let’s go get some more wood while we’re near water.” I had heard Beth’s rants before, and looked for any excuse to escape another one.
“I’m not done eating yet.” He helped himself to a second bowl. “I caught the biggest one didn’t I? That’s why it tastes so good. Thanks for teaching me how to catch ’em, Beth.”
“Bring it with you.” I threw my stew in the fire and walked down to the water’s edge.
The wind blew the cold rain in under the roof of the fork truck. The stinging precipitation turned to sleet.
The flat wheels of the high lift weren’t meant for anything other than concrete floors; any ice or snow would leave us stranded. We decided to make a run for it and head as far south as our fuel would take us. Two of the cars were scuttled to eliminate the whipping effect at full throttle. Getting away from the snow was imperative.
Driving wide open and non-stop was more than the machine could muster. We took another step back in time the day we left the fork and trailer combo dead in a pool of its own life fluids.
All the tools were left behind, except a couple adjustable wrenches and screwdrivers. The cans of diesel had to stay, so we made as many torches as we could carry. Every pocket was filled with tubers. Even the children toted a couple of carrots or a tater or two. Each adult wore as many uniforms as possible while still being able to walk. The beaver furs we had collected were heavy and cumbersome
to carry, but they were the only bedding we had. We were now on foot.
Torches soaked in diesel lit the way. Cattail reeds were dried, soaked with fuel oil, then wrapped tightly around a metal handle, then again wrapped tightly with copper wire, more reeds, then more wire. When it was finished it resembled a beehive with a hole at the top. They gave off a greenish-blue light, but lasted longer than any we had designed to this point.
The sleet turned to snow. The flakes grew bigger as the wind increased. We wandered along with no real plan or sense of direction due to the blizzard conditions. We all followed the person carrying the torch, and sometimes even the lead person wouldn’t know where the road was. More than once the shell of a car or truck would appear out of the whiteout, and we came to a screeching halt.
We discussed taking shelter in cars along the highway, but nobody cared for the idea of sharing a vehicle with a crispy corpse.
The precipitation had caused the rivers to swell. The sound of running water could be heard.
Sarah, who was leading at the time, held up the torch. She looked over the guardrails and yelled, “Hey, there’s a dry place. And look! There’s already some wood stuck in the end.”
We were all wet from the sticky, dime-sized snow. I was willing to take anything now. The idea of wood I didn’t have to gather appealed to me as well.
I was blinded by the light of Sarah’s torch, so walked to the right of her to get my own perspective. I looked over the edge and found the source of the water. A big drainage tile was emptying water into a river. A couple of feet higher and to the right was a second concrete tile, about six feet in diameter. It had been displaced during the earthquake, enough so that all the water flowed into the other tile. The sudden cessation of flowing water apparently had left debris at the exit point. It looked safe enough. There was no reason for me to believe that our combined weight would cause it to collapse. The water was clearly diverted to the tunnel on the left. “I think this is home for the night…as far as I’m concerned, looks safe enough,” I said.
“Looks good to me too,” Beth said, carrying Tara in her left arm and brushing snow off the baby’s hair with her right.
“Me too,” voiced Maria.
“Let’s get out of this snow before the kids catch pneumonia.” Sarah climbed over the railing and started down the embankment before we could have any more discussion.
“Be careful, those rocks will be slippery.” I followed her to watch out for her safety. “Slow down and wait for the rest of us to help you with the kids.”
Just as I expected, Sarah slipped on a wet rock, and fell on another pile five to seven feet below. She was carrying both Adam and Megan.
We saw the torch land on the rocks with a blaze of sparks that temporally blinded the rest of us.
Once our vision returned, we followed the crying down to where all three of them lay. I struggled with my backpack to get the flashlights out.
Megan was the first we found. She was the one crying. I held the light while Beth did a quick triage on the toddler. Her leg was twisted in an awkward position.
“Looks like a possible broken tibia and fibula,” she said as she handed Megan up to Maria, who had climbed down below me.
I shined the light up at the guardrails along the road and saw Marcos holding Tara and Eve. Their combined weight was more than his, but he was balancing both of them on his hips so they could see over the railing.
“I need that light, Nick,” Beth yelled.
I swung back to point the beam at her voice. She held her second patient up so she could see into his ears.
Even I could see that Adam was in dire straits. My training in the fire department had taught me that fluid coming out of the ears is not a good sign.
Beth carried Adam up to the road herself. She set him down and turned her attention to Megan.
Sarah was getting up on her own, though she obviously was in some distress. She started to vomit. The pain she was experiencing, because of the injury to her shins, was overwhelming. When she fell on the rocks, she did everything she could to protect the kids, so her shins, and her back, took the majority of the impact.
I helped Sarah over the guardrail. “You should have waited,” I said, showing no bedside manner. I was not the type of person to be in the care giving field. I’d struggled with showing compassion while I was in the fire service.
Beth looked up. “Nick, we have to get a fire started and get out of this snow, now!” She was doing a secondary assessment on Adam, who wasn’t making a sound, he just lay there unconscious.
“Let’s all head down into the dry culvert. I can’t get a fire going until we all get inside.” I wanted the fire to be on the edge of the opening to let the smoke escape to the outside.
Marcos was doing a great job keeping the other kids quiet and out of the way, but I had a more important job for him to do. “Marcos, let Sarah watch Tara and Eve. I need you to take the
hatchet and this flashlight, gather as much wood as you can, and bring it over to that culvert opening. We’re going to need a ton of it. Follow your tracks back.” He ran off immediately, gathering wood as he was told.
“C’mon, help me get him down there.” Beth then raised her voice so the rest could hear. “Let’s all head down and get out of this snow. Marcos, drop what you’re doing and help us get the babies down these rocks.”
I saw the flashlight move in the telltale fashion that told me he was running.
I picked up Sarah’s torch and relit it. Just a spark from the now empty lighter would ignite the smoldering fuel-soaked reeds. Now I had something to light the fire. It would take a lot of heat to get it going, because the wood was wet to begin with.
Forming a chain, with Marcos and myself to assist the others where the most difficult walking was, we carefully climbed up into the concrete tube.
The group went further into the culvert than I did to escape the snow. The fire was my main concern. “Marcos, thank you for the help with the kids,” I had to shout to overpower the thundering sound of the water gushing out of the other culvert. “Now can you get me some more wood, everything you can find?”
The beam of his flashlight was growing dimmer. The batteries were just about spent. I couldn’t give him the torch because I needed it to start the fire.
I turned my attention to the pile of wood. Something caught my eye. It almost looked like it had been piled. Under the wet wood on top, I discovered remnants of wood that had been burned. I didn’t have time to think about it, I had to get the fire started as soon as possible. We were all wet and freezing.
One of the cans I kept in my backpack contained dry tinder I’d collected along the way. With
that and the torch, the fire slowly started to catch and illuminate the inside of the culvert. The smoke was pulled outside as I had anticipated.
