The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid (35 page)

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Authors: Scott B. Williams

BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
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Grant left her for a few minutes and carefully picked his way along the riverbank in the dark. He had been trying to maintain a positive attitude as much as possible in front of Jessica, but he was overwhelmed with fear of what would become of Casey, and full of doubt that they could ever even find her, much less rescue her, out in the vastness of these river woodlands with no help. More then the fear though, he felt guilt for his own failure to protect her. He realized now he should have never left her alone to guard the stupid bicycles. They should have all stuck together and none of this would have happened. He had brought them both out here to the middle of nowhere with the promise of a safe refuge, and now look where that had gotten them. Not only was Casey in immediate and grave peril (if she were still alive), but he had now gotten Jessica, who was completely inexperienced in any life outside of a city, into a hardcore wilderness survival situation. It was up to him to somehow provide for her safety, shelter, and food, as well as take care of his own needs.
He found branches from which to hang four drop hooks. It was hard to tell in the darkness if the locations were ideal, but all he could do was hope for the best. This wasn’t a method he’d learned from the Wapishana in Guayana, but rather a technique used by the locals on the Bogue Chitto and most other rivers in the South to catch catfish. The beauty of it was that it was passive—setting out hooks was like setting a trap. You could forget about it and do other things and it would either work or it wouldn’t, depending on whether the quarry took the bait.
He returned to Jessica’s side by the canoe as quickly as possible, knowing she was terrified to be out in these dark woods and devastated by what had happened to Casey. She said she wasn’t hungry, but when the last of the cheddar-broccoli rice packets was cooked on the stove and he offered her most of it, she wolfed it down. Then he heated water for hot chocolate and they sat close together sipping it, leaning back side by side against the hull of the canoe, talking about Casey and trying to reassure each other that she would be okay. Grant knew the next day would likely be long and hard and they would need their sleep, but neither of them could relax because of their worries. He spread their sleeping bags on the tarp, putting Jessica’s next to the canoe and his close by on the other side, shielding her from the dangers she was certain lurked in the inky blackness surrounding them. Before lying down, he stuck the point of his machete in the soft ground so that the handle was within easy reach, though he knew there was nothing in the wild to fear here and the chances of a human intruder stumbling across their camp in the night were slim to none. But they had barely settled into their bags to try to rest when a barred owl unleashed its demonic, half-laughing, half-screaming, and utterly ear-piercing cry into the forest close by. Jessica grabbed him in a panic and nearly suffocated him in her arms, terrified by a sound that he had assumed everyone was familiar with.
“What in the
hell
was that?” she whispered, barely able to breathe in her choking fear.
Grant laughed a little and hugged her back to reassure her. “It’s just an owl. They’re common here in these big hardwood forests. We’ll probably hear them all night. They’re perfectly harmless.”
“That was worse than something from a horror movie! I’m so scared, Grant. I believe you that it was an owl, but I’m so scared after what happened to Casey.” Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. Grant felt his own eyes moisten as he stroked her hair as if she were a little girl and tried to reassure her.
Jessica stayed snuggled up against his shoulder the remainder of the night, and when he opened his eyes, he realized they both must have fallen fast asleep. The impenetrable darkness of night was replaced by a thick morning mist that hung over the river like heavy smoke. Birdcalls and the barking chatter of gray squirrels echoed through the forest. It was cool enough that Grant thought about a hot cup of coffee with great anticipation, but he then he remembered his hooks and gently pulled himself away from Jessica to go check them.
When he got to the river’s edge, the first two hooks were just as he’d left them, and when he pulled them up the jerky had swollen to the consistency of raw bacon, but was untouched. He pushed his way through the river cane to the next hook and saw that the branch he’d tied it to was bobbing up and down. When he grabbed the line, there was strong resistance as he pulled it in and he found on the other end a nice, sleek catfish that he guessed weighed at least two pounds. He grinned as he hooked a finger through one of its gills so it couldn’t get away, and checked the last hook with heightened enthusiasm, but found it empty. He was thrilled with his success nevertheless, as this fish represented a good meal that would make a fine breakfast for both of them—if only Jessica could get over her aversion to eating things from outside the plant kingdom.
Back at the canoe, he used the machete to cut a small sapling down and quickly cut three equal-length stakes from it, about a foot long. The propane left in the single bottle he’d brought was barely enough to heat some oatmeal for Jessica. He decided to save it since it wasn’t enough to cook the fish with anyway. In this heavy morning mist, he felt it was safe to build a quick twig fire that would put out very little smoke, so he made a tripod of the green sapling pieces by pushing one end of each one into the ground so that the tops were spaced just a few inches apart—just the right distance to support the cooking pot.
Jessica was awakened by the whacking of his blade and sat up to watch him build the fire. “I can’t believe you caught a fish that easily. That’s amazing.”
“Not really. Any good fisherman in these parts who knows what he’s doing would have probably caught at least two or three, if not four, with four sets. I hate to waste time cooking anything, but this will only take minutes. If we don’t eat, we won’t be able to paddle all day. I sure wish you would try some of this.”
“I’m okay, really. You said there was oatmeal.”
“Yeah, but only enough for today. After that, it’s gone, and we’re down to a few almonds and raisins.”
Grant put the pot on top of the tripod and collected a handful of pencil-sized dry twigs from dead branches still on the trees in the vicinity. He got the fire started and instructed Jessica to feed it with just a few twigs at a time while he went to the riverbank to clean the catfish. There wasn’t time to do it right, so rather than worry about trying to remove the tough skin typical of the species, he simply gutted it and cut off the head, then split it into two halves and washed these in the river. He was so hungry for meat he could have eaten them raw, but a kiss of the flames for a few minutes would make the fish much tastier and would be simple and quick enough. When the pot of water was boiling, he poured enough for Jessica’s oatmeal in her bowl, then added some ground coffee to the rest. Then he laid the fish halves over the flames.
“So, what made you decide to become a vegetarian? Casey told me you made that choice before she met you at Tulane.”
“Yeah, I had thought about it a lot since I was in about the seventh grade, I guess, when we learned in school how animals were treated in modern factory farming. The more I learned about it from reading on the Internet and all, the more I realized how cruel it really is to raise animals for meat. I decided to give up eating all chicken and beef and things like that first, then the more I got into the vegetarian lifestyle, the more I realized I didn’t even want fish or seafood, or any kind of animal foods that require killing the animal. I still eat cheese, and occasionally drink milk. I just don’t eat meat. It’s been four years now, and I feel fine.”
“Well, I can understand how the details of factory farming could be disturbing, but you do realize that humans have been eating meat as well as plant foods since the dawn of time, don’t you? The thing that bothers me about vegetarianism is that it implies we are somehow ‘above’ or ‘better than’ the other species, when in fact, we are animals too, and are subject to the laws of nature just like all species, despite our technology, which, as you can see, has failed us miserably now. Anyway, as an anthropology student, I find it a fascinating topic. I’m not trying to put you down or change your mind, I’m just trying to understand, that’s all.”
“I know most primitive people ate meat. But it’s just not necessary today. We don’t have to live that way because we have infinite choices available to us now.”
“
Had
infinite choices,” Grant reminded her as he used his pocketknife to turn the two slabs of fish over in the flames. “Everything’s changed now. Getting all that variety of fruits, veggies, and grains delivered to your neighborhood grocery store is a thing of the past until the whole system gets rebuilt, as you are well aware by now. Regardless of that, we are presently in an environment not unlike that of our distant primal ancestors. I can assure you that I have learned through my extensive studies of the subject, and my time spent living among the Wapishana, who are among the few truly aboriginal people left in the world today, sustaining human life from plant food alone is extremely difficult, if not impossible, in the wilderness. I hope you can see the difference between eating this fish, caught from the wild in the river, compared to fattening up chickens or hogs on growth hormones in inhumane cages for slaughter. If I didn’t eat this fish, chances are a hungry alligator or a bigger fish would.”
“I can see your point. I’m not saying I’ll
never
eat it. I’d much sooner eat that than a rabbit or something. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m afraid that it will, Jessica. That’s my point. Our situation isn’t going to change, and I don’t want to see you get weak or sick as a result of clinging to an unsustainable lifestyle.” Grant lifted the fish off the flames and quickly put out the fire by kicking sand over the burning twigs. He poured them each a cup of coffee and squatted next to the canoe, where he began pulling chunks of half-cooked fish off the bones and skin with his fingers. It was the best meal he’d had since leaving New Orleans.
“It
does
smell good cooked,” Jessica said, as she ate the last bite of oatmeal. “I’m not saying I won’t eat fish, I’m just not ready today, okay?”
“I’ll tell you one thing I’m going to miss the most about civilization,” Grant said, “and that is coffee. What we have left will last three, maybe four days, and then we’ll be caffeine-free for good, unfortunately.”
With no tarp or tent to take down, breaking camp and getting back on the river took only minutes. The mist hanging over the water limited their visibility, so Grant took it easy and paddled as silently as possible, instructing Jessica how to do the same. He felt sure that they were still a good distance behind Casey and her abductor, but he didn’t want to take a chance. The sun would soon burn away the fog, and then they could focus on making up lost time.
As they paddled around the wide, looping bends of the river, they passed huge sand and gravel bars on almost all of the inside bends. Grant knew that this part of the Bogue Chitto was the site of extensive gravel mining, but that most of the operations were just out of sight of the river. Paddling this way before in normal times, he’d heard the sound of bulldozers and other machinery off in the distance almost constantly in the daylight hours. He knew all this must have shut down the first day after the lights went out, and didn’t expect to see anyone associated with that work out on the river. Other people that would use the sandbars before the solar flare occurred were recreational weekend canoeists and some of the local country folk who loved to ride four-wheeler ATVs across these wide beaches and through the shallows.
As they paddled by these wide beaches, Grant kept their course as close as possible to the edge of the sand, scanning for signs that the man who had Casey had stopped on any of them. Grant knew he had to stop sometime, if for no other reason than to get out of the canoe and relieve himself. Since it had been less than a full day after the heavy rains let up, Grant figured that it was unlikely anyone else had visited any of these sandbars, except for those that were near the occasional camps that were scattered along the river course here and there. Stopping at each one and getting out for a close examination would take far too long, but he surmised that if Casey’s abductor had indeed stopped, the evidence would be right at the water’s edge anyway, and his theory proved correct after they had been paddling about an hour or so.
“There!” he said, as he quickly dug his paddle in and did a correction stroke to turn the bow into shore.
“What is it, do you see them?” Jessica asked, as she scanned the river ahead, thinking Grant was looking that way.
“He stopped right here!” Grant said as he leapt out of the canoe and pulled it up for Jessica. As soon as she was out he warned her not to walk over the tracks and then he crouched down to see if he could make sense of them.
“Yep, it was him! Look, it’s the same footprints, those moccasins or whatever they are that he’s wearing. The tracks are identical to the ones on the sandbar where he took Casey. Now we know for sure he’s still ahead of us, somewhere on the river. See, there’s the mark he made when he pulled his canoe up, like I just did with ours.” Grant followed a straight line of the tracks off across the sandbar to where a lone, stunted cypress tree stood weathered and broken out in the open. “He walked over here to pee,” he called back to Jessica, then he went back to the canoe.
“I don’t see any other tracks,” Jessica said.

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