Starvation Ridge: Bright in the Skies -- Chapter Sixteen

    Karen unhooked the baby from her nipple and tossed him gently onto her right shoulder, holding him in place with the palm of her hand and squeezing. A tiny burp issued forth. Mothering was for two-handed women, she'd long ago decided; she got more exercise moving Allyn from bag to breast to shoulder and back to the bag, after finding moss to line it with, than almost anything else she did these days. Except fighting that monster.

    Marleena, with a gurgling Arda in her arms, sat down beside Karen. "How is he doing?"
    "Hungry as ever, but never a peep out of him."

    In the late-night quarter-moonlight, with thickening clouds, Marleena's expression could not be fully read, but Karen could see that there was a question and a worry in the set of her shoulders. "That's never really changed; he seems happy and he has grown some but there's something not right. He could be deaf and mute, for all I know."

    "Does he blink at loud noises? There were a lot of them yesterday."

    "Oh! Yes, so maybe that's not it."

    "It 's not like you to go fuzzy on a problem."

    "Where he's concerned, I do. I must be shielding myself in some way."

    "Well give the two of you time. He was born so early; there must be a lot of catching up for him to do."

    "How is Juanita?"

    They both looked away toward the trees. Movement, in the moonshadow of one, had gone on for some time.

    Marleena's silhouetted face swiveled back to Karen. "She's been digging since we found him. She won't accept help."

    "He asked her to do it herself. I think his idea was that it would help her, having a hard task to do, so as not to go crazy with the grief."

    "It's not your way, here on the Creek, burial – is it?"

    "No, but in such times – so many bodies. And I don't think we'll be needing the composting any more."

    Guchi appeared from behind them carrying the heavy shotgun, with Errol, who was hobbling with a spear for an improvised crutch. "May we report?" asked Guchi.

    "Sit, guys," replied Karen, "But keep it low." She gestured with her head toward Juanita.
    "Oh – yeah." Errrol sat heavily on a log. Guchi set down the weapon and slowly settled himself down beside his friend, looking ill at ease.

    For a few moments no one spoke. Karen broke the spell by touching Guchi's knee with hers.

    "Oh," said Guchi again. "Well, I went up and had a look. Enough fire came out of Ridge that the trucks and the "tank" thing are just trashed. Nobody around. Up top, it was all flying rocks and smoke or steam, or both, and I couldn't get any closer, and then all of a sudden it stopped."

    "Stopped?"

    "Whatever was causing all the rocks burning, it was just ... over. I tried to get a look in the hole, but ... I started feeling not so good. So I came down."

    "What's 'not so good?'"

    "Uhh ... nausea? Ringing in my ears? Mouth tastes like metal. Um. Fingertips feel funny."

    "Can you stand up suddenly?"

    "Funny you should ask, I hid behind some stuff on the way down, checking out the terrain for unfriendlies, and when I got up I fainted."

    "I'm sorry; I realize now I shouldn't have let you go."

    "Well, I'm glad I did. I think I can say with confidence we're not leaving anybody behind that we could have helped."

    "I think you're right, Guchi. Won't you go lie down and rest a bit? There's some water and a few blankets we've got here."

    "I'll do that." Yamaguchi pointed to the supergun. "Too heavy – give it away." He stood up again, and wobbled. He caught himself by grasping Errol's spear, then shook his head and walked in the direction of the abandoned trucks.

    Errol watched him go, then turned his attention to Karen. "What's up?"

    "I think the containment of the nuke battery's been breached. The fuel's been aerosolized and the top of Ridge is dangerously radioactive now."

    Marleena held Arda closer. "What about here?"

    "There hasn't been much wind, but I think most of the plume – so far – will have gone down toward the Calapooia. That will change by mid-morning. And it's going to rain, which can't be good."

    "Can we get away?"

    "We'll have to. The Creek is finished." Karen looked at Errol. "How are you holding up?"

    "No new bleeding, thanks. We've been inventorying the trucks and the bulldozer. They're all damaged enough not to be useful for transport, not if we have to leave soon. I have the young people making Molotovs with some of the fuel, in case we meet the former owners."

    "I don't know, it's awfully quiet up the Road."

    "I was thinking the same. Meanwhile, there will be enough of that vacuum-packed food for everyone to have a stout breakfast."

    Young Griff came running from the trucks. "Someone's coming, and there's no password. What do we do?"

    "Say hello. If it's someone you know, call them over to your perimeter and do a visual by torchlight, but not out in the open. If it isn't, tell them to stay put, and keep listening for activity. If they don't stay put, shoot them and then keep listening for activity."

    "Gotcha!" He ran off, clearly delighted to be a warrior with a commission.

    Karen returned her attention to Errol. "Were there any weapons at the trucks? Any more people around?"

    "There was a substantial fight here. We've found four of our dead, besides Mr. Molinero alive – at first – and two of theirs. In the woods there was one of them, he'd been trying to get away and broke his leg in one of these weird ditches – someone caught up with him and finished the job, I think. No, they took all their stuff except a Bowie knife someone dropped and a few crossbow bolts."

    Griff returned, bringing Raoul and Ceel, who were laden with bows, quivers, and belt knives. They dumped their loads, winded, and smiled at Karen and Errol in the growing light.

    "Is that my axe on your belt?" Errol asked Raoul.

    "Yes; want it back?"

    "No, looks good on you. What brings you here?"

    "We're heading to Bridge to make a cache." Raoul reached for an unattended water bottle.
    "Whatever for?" asked Karen.

    "It's over. The bandits have surrendered. They're pretty sure the folks that brought them here are all dead, and they want to go home, which they say is as bad as here, but at least it's not here. Josep and Wilson gave them safe-conduct –"

    "Wilson is alive?" Karen's heart leaped for Billee's sake, as well as for what remained of the Creek.

    "Josep is alive?" shouted Marleena at the same time, standing up and almost spilling a wide-eyed Arda.

    "Yes – Armon, too – to go to Bridge and pick up this stuff for hunting purposes. Everything else, they've turned in and they are being escorted this way."

    Errol made an impatient gesture. "Right through us?"

    "We didn't know you were here. How did you get out, anyway?"

    "Never mind," said Karen. "We'll have to get off the Road right away and form a new perimeter, just in case. But you two, I think, should hand over your jobs to Griff – and one of his friends – and stay with us."

    "Why?"

    "Raoul, your mom is going to need you in a little bit."

    The smile faded. "What? No, wait, I think I know. Wilson acted kinda funny." Raoul, who had arrived full of vitality, seemed to shrink visibly.

    Ceel looked at Karen, then at Raoul, then at Karen again. "Me, too?" she asked, in a small voice.

    Karen felt upon herself the great weight of the terrible messenger. "Errol, everybody away from the trucks, perimeter in the woods. We'll join you. Griff, this stuff to Bridge, hop! Raoul, I'm deeply sorry, your mom's over there near the Creek, see that tree? Go to her.

"Ceel ... come with me."

:::

Jahn ambled along his short column, ostensibly checking the stretcher cases, but really looking for signs of rebellionion. One wrong move on this march, he knew, and they would all die quickly. In the lead at some distance, well out of reach on either hand, as well as bringing up the distant rear, angry and dangerous men and women watched and walked, rifles, shotguns and bows at the ready. Nerves were stretched taut in both parties. Fire in the mountain had reached some kind of ammunition, and the cooking-off brought a similitude of killing to all ears.

    "Sir?" a sullen youth whispered as he passed.

    "Don't y'even think it."

    "We could rush 'em, you'd give us a sign."

    "You in insub-ordy-nation right now, boy; want 'em ta see me kill ya bare-handed?"

    "Nossir."

    "Good, I'll overlook this f'now an' we'll discuss th' quality of yer trainin' if we ever get t'Roseburg. Look me up an' ask f'help wi'y' prroblem, then, hey?"

    "Yessir."

    Jahn finished his tour of the column and worked his way back to the head of the line. He could see, in the near distance, the old D-8 sitting in the middle of a blackened patch of earth. Behind it, a stricken MRAP still emitted smoke.

    "Spread out a little bit, please," ordered the man he'd overheard called Joseph, or some such. "Pass the machines on the left, hands on top of your heads, all eyes front."

    Jahn could see, as they neared, that all bodies had been cleared away somewhere, and the vehicles thoroughly canvassed. Foil wrappers had been gathered up and rolled into a ball that someone had not yet carried off. As he suspected, there were more fighters than just the ones that had followed his little army up the valley.

    A half-strangled cry, off to the left, drew everyone's attention. Jahn looked left, though careful not to turn his head by much. A small, black-haired woman, brandishing an axe, was running toward them as fast as her short legs could carry her. A revenge play, then; Jahn was familiar with such. So this was how it would all end; he'd have to try to disarm her to protect those under his command and care, then the Joseph guy or the Wilson fellow would have to kill him. In a few weeks the lady'd be over it; but he, Jahn, after his long travels in hope of a home, would be no more. He braced himself.

    Wilson, however, stepped between the woman and the hesitating column and raised his rifle, aiming it at her. Jahn was filled with admiration. Also, a young man, whom he'd seen in the fighting, was now close on the woman's heels and tackling her. They went down in a heap, and Wilson lowered his weapon and went to them.

    Jahn, sure that the immediate crisis was in hand, had better prevent another. "Eyes t'th'front!" he shouted at the wobbling line. "For'rard harch!" The lads pulled themselves together and walked on, hands still on their heads.

    As they cleared the vehicles, stepping over the detritus of war and the deep cracks all over the road, a new sight presented itself to Jahn's peripheral vision. A one-armed woman and a black child stood side by side, weapons in hand. There were others in the shadowy wood.

    Ahead, not far from the bridge that had led them here, a flock of geese swung by, yelping.

    Yeah, Jahn thought. Ol' Mr. Magee, y'bit off way more'n y'c'd chew. If we-all don't starve this winter, I'm gonna run things hella diff'rent down on th' Umpqua!

:::

 Quiet reigned along Starvation Creek.

    All day, smoke rose, as it had not in a long time, from the chimney at Tomlinson's. Billee brought Mr. Perkins a cup of hash tea, but he ignored it, staring at the wall. His son and daughter leaned on him from either side. No one asked them to come to the living room, and the same grace was extended to Juanita, her sons, and her new daughter-in-law, who'd stayed on the stoop together.

    Billee, with Krall dogging her heels, carried the steaming stock pot into the living room – one of the biggest rooms left on the Creek. Outside, a cold rain fell, rattling in the downspouts and off the porch roof. Chairs had been brought from throughout the building, along with assorted buckets turned over for seats. Ladling out cups of the mildly soporific tea, she picked up the thread of the conversation.

    "...the kale did better than expected; but we need it all now and there's no more seed. Too late to plant anyway," Tomma was saying.

    Karen, sitting in the deep chair that had belonged to old Mrs. Tomlinson, played with Allyn's fingers as he he lay in her lap. She looked up. "Won't matter. None of us can stay."
    All eyes turned to her.


    "Errol and Deela are techies and can confirm that Dr. Mary explained about this – and, and I used to read about it. Ridge, as we all know, was powered by a kind of small nuke. Most of what's been splashed is thorium-232. It emits alpha particles and turns into radium, and eventually stabilizes lead. Also there is some gamma."

    Vernie twirled the long Kentucky rifle by the edge of its brass buttplate on the floor before him. "So, what's that mean?"

    "You see how it is with Guchi; since he looked in the hole he's been throwing up, off and on, all day. He'll get better, but we won't know for how long. Already most of us don't live as long as in the old days. Dust, some of it too small to even see, is going to be coming down on our houses, the land, the Creek, and for many miles around, maybe for years. It will percolate into the soil, and get into the crops, the animals, the roots of trees: it will taint the very firewood. As we breathe, drink, and eat, it will become part of our teeth, our bones, and our flesh, and it will make the tiniest bits of our flesh grow awry."

    "You say it turns into lead." Wilson, sitting on a tall, upended bucket, put his feet out before him and put his hands behind his head. The Doctor's AA-12 lay at his feet. "How long does that take?"

    "Half the thorium will turn into lead in fourteen billion years."

Everyone sat still, shocked.

    Deela, sitting in the hall doorway with half an eye on Bolo, Guchi, and other wounded lying beyond, spoke up quietly. "The sun itself will go out before that."

    Josep, on the couch, tightened his arm around Marleena's shoulder. "How long have we before we must go?"

    "There's a lot of this kind of thing in the air and water and soil – and us – already, from the Great Undoing." Karen tipped Allyn up into a half-sitting position, cupping his back with her hand. "It's why we don't live so long as the Elders did. We all know it's been hard to bring babies to term, and raise children to adulthood. And cancer hunts us all, all the time. It will take many generations to adapt, even if this hadn't happened here. And then there's other stuff – it's too hot to our south, and I think that's coming our way. More summers like the one we just had, and worse storms. But now that Ridge has been cut open to its heart, yesterday would not be too soon for us to all leave."

    "If anyone is pregnant, especially, then?" said Raoul from the front door. He looked into Nine-Ah's face as she came and stood beside him.

    "And children, of which there are so few; but this is bad for all of us. Yes, the pregnancies most of all."

    Billee missed the cup she was pouring by several inches as she stared; Krall jumped back. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Her voice cracked.

    Wilson, across the room from her, raised his eyebrows. "Uhh ... Bee?"

    "Of course, silly!" She put down the ladle and reflexively covered her belly with her hands. "If this place is extra dangerous to babies, we gotta roll!"

    Several voices were raised at once. "Where?" asked Tomma over the din. "Where's going to be safer?"

    "We can head for Roundhouse for now," replied Josep. "Far enough? And there's no food there, any more than here."

    "We will need to go hundreds of kilometers at least," said Karen. "And we'll need to separate into smaller groups, so that we can more easily feed everyone on such game and forage as can be expected."

    "Yes," agreed Wilson, straightening up and rubbing his chin. "If any one group fails, there are still the others. But if we are all together, failure will be final for everyone."
    "Let's all go together to Roundhouse in the morning, then," offered Josep. "It will take about two days, maybe three with our wounded. You can be our guests there; hopefully no one else has found it yet."

    Scooping the half-sleeping Allyn to her shoulder, Karen stood up. "Be thinking of what to put in ponchos and blanket rolls. Some will be able to drag a travois – if anyone doesn't know what that is, we'll show you. We will bundle the kale and carry it on those till it runs out. . Winter is coming and with no certainty of food, it will be hard. Take what you will use, not what you'd like to have. Young Griff here knows what we brought from Ridge and can advise – right?"

    The boy grinned. "Right." 

    Karen looked round the room. "We can never return. But if we're careful how we travel, hopefully we can rendezvous. Perhaps – there will be a Creek again."

 

 
(To be continued)