Village E3: Survival of the Human Spirit (4 page)

On the return trip home, John was
thinking about the task of cooking. It had been so long since he had red meat.
He wondered if he would be able to eat both legs. The first thing John did as
he arrived back, was grab his knife. He cut two sturdy straight limbs about
four feet long. He sharpened one end of each, taking extra care to get a good
point. He then threw about a half dozen pieces of wood on the fire. Looking to
where he'd placed the legs of the deer, he was confused at first.

Where did I put the other leg,
he wondered.
One of them is gone.
Even though he was pretty sure that he'd placed them side by side, he still
started looking around him.
Something got it,
he thought. The thought of
something out there that liked to eat meat began to weigh on John.
From now
on I'll have to be more careful,
he thought. He picked up the remaining
leg, and carefully ran one of the sharpened sticks through it.

After positioning the skewered meat
across the fire, he walked over to the water.
Time to get some of this blood
off,
he thought. He squatted beside the calm pool. Before dipping his hands
in, he saw his reflection. It was like seeing a stranger. He had always kept
himself clean shaven, and never allowed his hair to get long enough to cover
the top of his ears. What he saw now, reminded him of some of the homeless
people he used to occasionally see in the city. His hair hadn't seen a comb
since he'd been here. He wasn't just filthy looking, he was scary looking, and
he didn't like what he saw.

He took his right hand and swiped it across the surface of the water, so he
wouldn't have to look at his reflection. He started scrubbing away at the blood
with his hands, but it wasn't coming off easily. He needed soap and a scrub
brush, but had neither. He thought for a few seconds, then turned around and
grabbed some leaves from a bush. Wadding them up into a ball, he then used the
ball of leaves to scrub at the blood. It wasn't a perfect solution, but was
better than nothing. After working on it for several minutes, he decided that
his hands were as clean as they were going to get. Scooping water with his
cupped hands, he splashed water on his face several times.

John could already smell the meat
cooking. He began to imagine what it might taste
like. Turning it over so it could cook on the other side for a while, he
finally had some time to unwind. He sat on the ground, then stretched out on
his back. He knew he would have to resist the urge to sleep, even though he
wanted to give in to it. The missing leg helped keep him awake. He found
himself looking around more now, wondering what was out there.

John planned on sleeping outside
tonight, because it had been a little too warm in the hut the last several
nights. Now he was rethinking that plan, since there was a carnivore out there.
Is it big enough to kill me,
he wondered. That and other questions were
going through his mind, so he sat up. Thinking about it was starting to get to him. He caught himself looking over his shoulder,
worried about what was behind him. His knife was lying about four feet away. He
got up on one knee, and reached out and gathered it, along with his spear. He
carefully placed one on each side of him.

John had so many things going through
his head but at this moment, he was just going to let his meat cook. He rose to
his feet and turned the meat over again.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes
should do it,
he thought. His stomach was already growling with
anticipation. He had an idea of how to hurry things up a little.

Carrying his knife with him, he
walked over to a nearby bush and cut a stick about four feet long, and as big
around as his little finger. As with the larger sticks, he sharpened one end.
Pulling the meat from the fire, he sliced off a thin piece about six inches
long. He poked his newly-sharpened stick through it, then pulled the stick part
way out, and stuck it through again. Holding it over the hottest coals, he
cooked it like he used to cook hotdogs over a campfire when he was a kid. After
about five minutes, he checked his work. It looked burnt on the ends, but the
center looked pretty good.

Gently pulling the meat apart with
his fingers, he cautiously bit into one end of the mouth-watering meat. The
burnt part was crunchy and tasted burnt, but the tender meat next to it was
delicious.
This is better than any T-bone I ever had,
he thought. After
quickly downing the first piece, he repeated the process, slicing another thin
hunk from the partially cooled leg. Since waking up on the beach, he couldn't
recall ever having this much food. His stomach couldn't hold as much as it used
to but he continued to eat, bite after bite, long after his stomach let him
know he was full.

His mind turned to the deer hide. He
wasn't sure what he would do with it, but it was a resource that he couldn't
let go to waste. He had skinned mule deer back in Colorado, but never thought
of keeping the hide. He wasn't exactly sure what to do to save it, but he knew that
he had to get as much flesh off of it as he could.

He laid the skin, fur side down, on a
flat rock. Holding his knife by the back of the blade, he began to scrape away
any remaining flesh from the skin. He remembered hearing people talk about
doing this and the only advice he could remember was scrape the hide well, and
then salt it. He didn't have any salt.
Without salt, this might be a waste
of time,
he thought. He continued the tedious job, not knowing if his
effort would be rewarded. Before he was finished his wrist and forearm were
aching. He stuck his knife in the ground, then got up and hung his thoroughly
scraped hide across a limb in the sun.

Tired, and with a full belly, John
was thinking about calling it a day. He had enough water for the next day, so
there wasn't anything left that he had to get done. Gathering up his knife and
his spear in one hand, and his water container in the other, he managed to grab
his cooking pot with the hand that held his weapons.

He didn't care that there was
probably an hour or two of sunlight left, it was time for bed. With skillful
carving, many hours of labor, and some sturdy vines, he had crafted a frame
that was about seven feet long, and three feet wide. On it, he had a pile of
leaves, which he changed about once every two weeks. On top of the leaves, he
put his coveralls, for extra padding.

On some nights, it got cool enough
that he wore the coveralls for a few hours. His main concern was getting up off
the ground, and his rough looking handiwork accomplished that. He placed his
knife and spear in the exact place he put them every night. Next to them, he
kept his bug out bag, which stayed in the hut most of the time now.

After getting everything situated,
John walked over and secured his door. He hadn't used the door since a week or
so after he'd built it, but tonight he was glad that he had it. Spotting a
small spider slowly crawling across the floor, John squashed it with his bare
foot, without hesitation. It was something he wouldn't have thought of doing
just months before but now, in many ways, he was a different person.

It was as if he had been born here,
destined to occupy this place, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, his old life
ended, and this new one began. He was still in mourning for the loss of his old
life, but was determined to give this life his full effort, at least for now.
There were some days he wanted to quit, but those days don't come as often as
they used to.

Climbing into bed, John let himself
relax. He was so tired that his mind was unusually calm, and not working
overtime as usual. Within minutes, he was asleep.

John woke up early, removed his door
and stepped out. The sun wasn't up yet, but it was getting light enough to see
the sky above. Checking the sky was the first thing he did each day now. He was
always wondering when the next rain would come. The next thing in his daily
routine was to check the fire.

He went into his hut and got some dry
grass that he kept there. All he needed was a few live embers, and he could
usually get it going. He probed the ashes with a stick, and found some hot
ones. He placed the grass next to the fire pit, then gathered a few small twigs
and sticks. Placing the grass directly on the live embers, the smoke started
immediately. He blew on the grass several times, and suddenly it burst into
flames. With the skill that comes from much
practice, he placed increasingly larger pieces of wood until he had a raging
fire going.

Even though John had enough water for
the day, he liked to stay on top of his supply, so he got his pot ready to
fill. Keeping hydrated, and getting as much to eat as he could, occupied most
of his time. Taking his cooking pot with him, he walked over to the pool. This was
a trip he had made hundreds of times, always wishing his pot was bigger.
Returning with his full pot, he deftly placed it over the fire, being careful
to make sure it didn't tip over. His fruit supply was getting low, so after
boiling some water, he planned to look for fruit. He knew of about a half dozen
trees that he visited regularly and today he was going to start with the
closest.

As his water boiled, John drank some out
of the supply in his plastic water container. He drank what he thought was
enough to make room for the water he had on the fire. As soon as the water
began to boil, he removed it from the rocks it was sitting on. While it cooled,
he walked to his hut and got his knife and spear. Each move in the morning was
something he did almost exactly the same way, day after day, week after week,
month after month.

One thing about this type of living
was that there was never a day off. A day off might mean not having enough
water, a fire, or something to eat. He bent over to check the temperature of
the water. It was still too hot. When he straightened up, his boxers slipped,
going down about half way on his butt cheeks before he caught them. He had gone
a couple of days without them, but he still wasn't ready to do that full time.

Growing impatient to get started,
John decided to drink the water in his pot when he got back from gathering
fruit. He grabbed his spear in one hand and picked up his shirt and knife with
the other. He usually used his shirt to carry things in. The closest tree was
to the north, so he headed in that direction, which was about a twenty minute
walk.

His walks through the jungle were
different than when he first arrived. Now his moves are more calculated,
because he is no longer just an observer, he was
part of this place. Like it or not, he was part of the jungle, and it had
become part of him. Looking ahead, from side to side, and occasionally behind
him, he made slow progress toward his destination. His skin was darkened from
sun exposure, with smudges of dirt and grime here and there, allowing him to
blend in with his surroundings much better than when he was pearly white and
clean.

About halfway there, John paused for a short break, wiping some sweat from his
forehead. Without warning, a sharp pain surged from the front of his head to
the back. He had felt that pain once before, but this time it was worse. He
dropped his things and grabbed his head with both hands. The pain was intense,
but short. When it subsided, he picked up his things, and without even giving
it a thought, took a right turn toward the beach.

He walked about twenty feet before he
even realized he was walking away from where he planned to go. He was aware of
the direction he was heading, but strangely, he had no desire to change
direction, as he picked up his pace.

Once John reached the beach, he stood
there much like a person does when they walk into a room, and forgot what they
went there for. He started to walk south along the beach. When on the beach, it
was a habit now for John to look for anything that might be useful. Scanning
from side to side, what he saw next almost didn't register at first. It was
something he'd seen many times, but not here.

Foot prints....there were real foot
prints. It wasn't just one set of prints, but it looked like two.
I'm not
alone.
What does this mean,
he wondered.
How many people are
here? Maybe there is a village. I hope they have food,
he thought. Like the
day he arrived, his mind was full of questions and thoughts.

With excitement, John looked up
ahead, and saw nobody in sight. The shoreline had a curve to it that he
couldn't see past. He moved closer to the tree line where the walking was a
little easier. He started to jog, constantly checking for tracks near him, and
trying not to lose track of the footprints in the sand, farther out on the
beach.

His heart was pounding, partly from
the physical exertion, and partly from excitement. As he neared the curve, his
excitement built. He wanted to see people more than anything he had ever wanted
before. He sprinted the final one hundred feet, and as he rounded the curve, he
could see two people in the distance. "Hey, hey, hey," he yelled so
loudly that it hurt his throat. Being too far away, they couldn't hear him.
This
is going to take a while,
he thought.

John hadn't brought any water with
him, because he wasn't planning on being gone very long. He was already
thirsty, but for now, catching up to the two strangers was more important to
him. They were probably a mile or more away. He would have to pace himself,
while still trying to gain ground. Staying close to the tree line to take
advantage of shade, he walked at a fast pace, always looking ahead.

Occasionally running for short bursts,
he had to hold the waist band of his boxers to keep them from falling down. The
two people ahead were walking slowly, so in a short time, he was making
noticeable gains. He could see them better now, and they looked like two women.
Quickly analyzing the facts, he came to a conclusion, as to why these women
might be here on this beach. He hoped that he was wrong, for himself, and for
them.

John tried yelling again.
"Hey," he screamed with all the effort he could muster. They still
couldn't hear him because the ocean was muffling the sound of his voice. As he
got closer he could see that they were both young. They stopped walking, and
were talking to each other. One of them looked black, and the other one looked
either really tan, or some race other than
white. They were in the middle of the beach, but now they headed toward the
tree line.

When they reached the edge of the
vegetation, they stopped and both sat down.
Turn this way,
he thought.
They were both looking out toward the ocean, but then one of them turned her
head in his direction. He quickly ran out on the beach and began to wave his
arms, hoping to catch her attention. She pointed at him, and the other woman
looked. He felt relieved that they finally knew he was here and began to jog
towards them, as they both stood up.

He felt an instant shot of adrenalin
from the anticipation he felt. All the positive feelings he was experiencing were
instantly dashed when they started to run in the opposite direction. The
possibility that they might be afraid of him hadn't crossed his mind till this
moment.

Why wouldn't they be afraid,
he thought. He hadn't shaved, had a
haircut, or even combed his hair for months. And if that wasn't enough to
frighten them off, he was in his boxer shorts and carrying a spear and a knife.
He immediately dropped his spear, wrapped his knife with his shirt, and ran
after them. Every few seconds, one or the other of the two women would look
over their shoulder to see if John was still there.

They stopped, talked for a few
seconds, then ran into the jungle. "No," John screamed. It was a
scream of frustration as much as anything.
OK, I need to keep an eye on the
spot where they went in,
he thought. He stopped running, and focused on the
spot, as he walked toward it. After a tiring twenty minute walk, he was nearing
the tree where he'd seen them enter the undergrowth. He stopped to rest and
think of some kind of plan.

Did they go deeper into the jungle,
he wondered. Remembering his first
day here, he thought they might be afraid to go too far away from the beach.
His throat was very dry from the yelling, running, and
walking. He could see that they weren't carrying anything, so he knew that they
probably needed a drink as badly as he did.
I'll offer them water,
he
thought.

John walked as close to where the two
women had entered the jungle as he could. "Hello, are you in there?"
he shouted. He waited for a response. He heard nothing but the usual sounds of
birds, and the ocean in the background. "I have water," he shouted,
after only a few seconds. Again he waited, hoping to hear the sound of a human
voice. It was apparent that the women were more afraid of him than they were of
the jungle.

Fearing that he would drive them
farther away from the beach, he didn't want to pressure them. "I'll come
back tomorrow with water. If you want it, I'll be here then," he yelled
out, then walked fifty feet or so away. "See you tomorrow," he said,
not as loudly, so they could tell that he was walking away. He kept walking
until he reached a vantage point that allowed him to view the area where he had
seen them leave the beach, found a place to sit, and waited.

He remembered his first day here, and
he knew how they must be feeling. He thought of how the noises of the night
were a little scary for him. He guessed that it would have the same effect on
these strangers, from who knows where. He stayed hidden, hoping his plan would
work, since daylight was running out.

After what seemed like several hours,
he saw a woman's head peek out from behind some leaves. She was looking in his
direction, but he was confident that she couldn't see him. She disappeared back
into the bushes. A minute or two later, she appeared again, this time sticking
her head out all the way. She looked both ways, checking to see if John was
gone. She turned her head, and said something, then cautiously stepped out in
the open. John could see that she was very tan and athletic looking, with long,
dark brown hair. She was taller than the other woman, but not by much. Right
behind her was the second woman. She had attractive features, and was also very
fit looking. She was black, with very short hair, and was carrying her shoes in
her hand.

Both women walked out away from the
trees, to get a better look down the beach. They each looked in both directions
several times. John was close enough to barely hear their voices, but he
couldn't understand what they were saying. Satisfied that he was gone, they
moved closer to the edge of the vegetation, and proceeded to walk away from
where John was hiding. John quietly rose to his feet. He knew that could make
better time on the solid floor of the jungle than they could in the sand. He
quickly walked deeper into the jungle, then began to run. With bare feet, he
made almost no noise.

In no time he had passed them, and
was at least fifty yards ahead of them. Once he was confident that he was far
enough ahead, he stopped running. At a brisk pace, he then walked toward the
beach. Staying low, and moving as if he were
hunting prey, he eased his way closer to the edge of the tree line.
That's
perfect,
he thought, as he noticed a thick heavy bush near where the sand
began. Feeling the excitement building, he crawled on his hands and knees for
most of the last twenty feet, then inched along on his stomach for the last few
feet. Careful not to expose his position, he found a spot that allowed him to
see through small openings between the leaves of the bush.

Just barely out on the sand, they
were coming his way, and would soon be coming right by him. Suddenly John
became aware of how he would look to these women. As he was lying there, he
could smell his own body odor, and knew how filthy he looked. He had smelled
bad for months and rarely even tried to wash up. He never saw much point in
cleaning up, since he was alone. Things were different now, soon another person
would see him and smell him. He was embarrassed and ashamed, but still very
excited. The feeling he had now reminded him of the first time he shot a deer.
He got buck fever so bad, that it was hard to hold his rifle still enough to
shoot. Now, as then, he was shaking. He didn't want to scare them, but he knew
he didn't have a choice.

As the two women neared, he pulled
his head back out of sight. Pushing his shirt and knife to one side, he got up
from his prone position, to his hands and knees. At the first glimpse of
clothing through the leaves, he jumped out and grabbed the nearest woman.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quickly, as he held onto the
frightened woman. He barely got the words out of his mouth, when she bit him
hard, causing him to yell out, in pain. He let her go, and at the same moment,
he felt a flurry of blows hitting him in the face and head. "Leave us
alone," the woman hitting him said, with a mixture of fear and anger in
her voice.

"I don't want to hurt you,"
John said, as he jumped back. "My name is John, and I'm from Colorado.
I've been stuck here for months. Who are you, and where are you from?" He
could tell from the expressions on their faces that his appearance and odor
must be repulsive. "Just stay back," said the one he had grabbed. The
short but intense encounter had them all breathing hard.