MissTaken: Ch5

  If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend you go to this page which has links to all the chapters as I post them. 

Chapter 5

Jessica spent the next few days making rope baskets from the cordage. She coiled and shaped thicker cordage while she used thinner cordage to bind the coils together. She narrowed the openings and added rope handles to a couple of the smaller baskets, so she would be able to use like canteens. She gathered some lumps of pitch and dropped them into the rope jugs with hot rocks from the fire, shaking them about until the rocks cooled. After doing this a few times, she filled them with water and checked for leaks. She repeated the process until she was satisfied the smaller two containers were watertight. The larger container leaked a little bit, but as she intended to use it only to carry dirty water from the river to the cistern, minor leaking wasn’t a serious concern.

Jessica also made a couple baskets by weaving together thin, flexible branches, to be used for storing extra meat or other sundries. She used the last bit of cordage and some sticks to build a basket fish trap. She placed this in the river, hoping to add a little variety to her sparse diet of mostly tiny, somewhat crushed rodents caught in the deadfall traps.

Jessica also spent time working on the bow, adjusting the limbs, and shaping the arrow rest until she was able to hit a two-inch target consistently at twenty yards.

As the sun went down, she decided to try her hand at catching birds.  Many birds would sleep, or at least rest in the trees at night. Maybe she could sneak up on one in the darkness and catch it.

She made her way back to the cluster of trees and discovered the first flaw in her plan. Even with the moonlight, the treetops were shrouded in darkness, making it difficult to pick out the shapes of roosting fowl.

She did manage to locate a few birds, but no matter how slowly or carefully she moved, they always seemed to sense her approach and took flight before she was close enough to make a grab at them.

After a dozen disappointing attempts, she abandoned the effort and returned to camp. She lay down and drifted off to sleep.

“What plans tomorrow?” Grandma Dalton asked. She was in her home again, sitting on the couch, while Grandma Dalton knitted in her rocking chair as in the previous dream.

“I think I’ll head down the draw tomorrow.” Jessica said, “I saw deer sign when I was down there a few days ago, checking the fences.”

Grandma stopped knitting, looked skyward, then turned her gaze to Jess. “You know, dear,” she said, “I think you should try north instead. I think you will find the hunting more productive.”

 “Grandma-great?” Jess was puzzled by this suggestion. “North is higher up into the mountains and high desert. I don’t think I am more likely to find deer there, and with less cover, it will be much harder to get a good shot.”

The old woman returned to her knitting. “You do as you like. But I really do think you should go north tomorrow.”

Jessica woke early the next morning, and in spite of the late night, she felt well rested. “A full belly, enough water and a soft place to sleep,” she reasoned.

She hurried through the morning routine of checking the traps, refilling and sterilizing the cistern, and making breakfast. The traps were empty this morning, but for one rodent a bit bigger than a mouse or a rat. It wasn’t especially tasty, but it was food, and she wasn’t in a place where she could be picky. She needed to start working out some vegetation that would be safe to eat. An all meat diet would get old after a while. The only non-protein nutrition she had taken in over the past few days had been some pine needle tea she brewed, just for a break from drinking boiled water.

Her dream from the night before kept slipping to the front of her mind. She had definitely been in her home, talking to her ancestor. However, the geography of the conversation didn’t fit with anything at home. It did fit with her current geography and plan of action, though. She intended to go south to hunt deer, so the description of “north” in the dream fit here.

Nevertheless, just as in the dream, she couldn’t figure the sense of going north instead of south to hunt and gather more cambium for rope making.

But Grandma Dalton seemed quite insistent that she should go north.

Why? She couldn’t shake the feeling it was more than just a random, meaningless dream.

What if the feeling was her gut trying to tell her something? Was it worth the risk of following the pull north? She really needed to establish a better food supply. It was the next key step in thriving: First shelter and fire, then water, then food, then conveniences.

Without shelter, you could die in a matter of hours. Without water you died in a matter of days, and without food you died in a matter of weeks. Once you were solid on those, the sky was the limit.

She had constructed a primitive “cooler” to store surplus meat in—she had piled rocks at a secluded point on the river to create a circular fence where she could sink any meat in her woven baskets. Water flowed through it to keep it cool and extend its life for a few days, yet fish and other scavengers wouldn’t be able to get in. Not as effective as the ice-cold mountain streams where she spent her summers, but still better than open exposure. Now she just needed a surplus of meat to put in her “cooler”. A haunch of venison would definitely supply that, and it would be considerably more enjoyable than her present rat or squirrel diet.

Using a small piece of rope, she tied the loops of one of her water bottles to her belt. She stuffed her arrows and the hatchet into her sack, gathered it and her bow, and slipped out of the cave. She stood, looking north, then south. She heaved a deep sigh of resignation, shook her head, and turned north to start following the river upstream.

She had traveled no more than an hour when she came to a shallow gravel-bottomed area that was an ideal crossing. The water was clear, and the stones in the stream bed were worn smooth by centuries—or perhaps millennia—of water flowing over them, grinding and polishing them. She took off her boots and socks. While she had the second, pilfered pair of socks, she only had the one pair of boots. The resulting blisters wet boots would likely create were something she preferred to avoid if possible.

She made her way across, gingerly placing each footfall after a tentative exploration with her toes to make certain the rocks she was stepping on were as smooth as they appeared, and that they were solidly in place and wouldn’t slip, revealing unpleasant surprises underneath.

Jessica made a mental note to make a pair of moccasins from some of the animal pelts or cordage, just so she would at least have a backup pair of shoes if hers got wet.

She made it across without incident, dried her feet against her jeans, then replaced her socks and boots. She moved away from the river a bit and continued to parallel it as it wandered in a north-northwest direction. The ground began to steepen and climb in front of her as she moved forward over the rocky terrain, dotted with the occasional squat bush which had somehow managed to send roots into the barren soil and find enough nutrients to survive.

Above her, Jessica saw a high point with a stand of evergreen trees. She could scout the area from higher ground if she made the climb.

It was slow going, the ground mainly slide rock, which shifted treacherously underfoot.

As she neared a crest, she thought she could hear voices in the distance. She stopped walking and listened. The ragged sound of her own panting filled the air around her, muffling any other sounds. She held her breath, and cocked her head, straining to hear. She could pick out two male voices now. They sounded like they were yelling.

Jessica expelled her breath as an icy tingle shot down her spine. Should she turn back? It would mean losing all her progress and needing to start afresh the next morning. A waste of time if the voices didn’t belong to her captors. She needed to at least check the situation out before retreating.

Jess slowed her pace, and moved more carefully over the loose rock, to limit noise as much as possible. She came over the crest onto a dirt road cut into the side of the mountain.

The voices were coming from farther up the road to the north, around a bend.

Jessica crossed the road, hurrying into the stand of evergreens on the other side. Crouching, she slunk toward the sound of the voices. She scanned the trees for any sign of movement, anything that looked out of place, while monitoring the terrain to avoid dry branches or other debris likely to make noise under her footfall.

She plotted her course forward, favoring areas with darker shadow and thicker cover. She was getting close enough to make out words. The two distinct male voices were angry. They were trying to get their car running and were arguing about what they should do next.

“Angel’s gonna be pissed if we don’t have these four to the mine by tomorrow night. He was already threatening to feed us to his dogs for losing the other one, we can’t afford another slip up.”

“Hey, don’t blame me, man!”

Jessica froze. She knew those voices. The first was Juan, the second belonged to the one Juan had threated to kill for groping her. Jess fought to control the wave of panic threatening to overwhelm her. She dug her nails into her sweaty palms and inhaled, counting slowly to five in her head. She held her breath for five counts, then slowly exhaled for ten. She couldn’t afford to crumble now. The hadn’t found her yet. And they weren’t going to. Maybe she could use this to her advantage, by gathering information to stay one step ahead of them.

She willed herself to take another step forward, crouching lower.

“Look, we can’t be more than six or seven miles from Ixlayotla,” Juan said. “I’ll walk to the village and get a car. If we hurry, we can still catch our ride tonight. You stay here and watch the girls.”

“What, you want me to just sit here for hours?”

“Yes, I do. Keep your eyes on the girls, and keep your hands off them. They end up hurt or missing, it’s your head Marcos.”

Jess peered through the branches of the shrub she was using for cover. She saw Juan walking away up the road. Marcos stood, pointing his handgun at Juan’s retreating back.

“Point that pistola at me again, and I’ll cut your hands off,” Juan shouted without looking back. Marcos lowered the gun and kicked at the road, sending up a small dust cloud.

Jess remained motionless, staring at the beat-up van. Were her roommates in there? The image of Meredith from her dream returned. She looked from the van to Marcos who was pacing randomly, kicking at the dirt, and muttering expletives under his breath. He stabbed his pistol at the air occasionally to punctuate a particularly acid phrase. She noted that while he spoke Spanish, he seemed to favor English expletives.

She shifted her gaze from Marcos to the gun in his hand, then back to the van. What was she going to do? What could she do? She looked at Marcos and the gun again.

Jessica considered the bow in her hand. She had taken a four-point buck two years ago. She had located it in a meadow in the early evening when she was getting ready to return to camp. She spent an hour carefully slinking around the edge of the meadow to the downwind side, slipping quietly from bush to bush. She had moved to within twenty yards of the deer when she posted up, drew, and released. The slap of the bow startled the buck, but the arrow had already found its mark. It went cleanly through the buck’s side, hitting the lungs and heart. The animal jumped once in surprise then dropped, lifeless, to the ground.

She was no more than twenty yards away from Marcos. The thought of firing an arrow at a human being, even one as disgusting as Marcos, caused her stomach to twist and her throat to tighten. She could feel the adrenaline shakes in her hands and arms. She had felt that with the deer as well, but then it was with a sense of anticipation. Now it was pure dread.

Marcos kicked at the ground again, muttering more expletives. He stomped across the road, looking down toward the river. He paused mid-curse, staring at something out of Jessica’s view. He glanced around, as if to make sure nobody was watching him, then began to work his way down the slope and disappeared out of site.

 Don’t just sit there, Jess, move, a voice hissed in her mind.

Jessica scrambled forward, uncertain what she should, or could do. The hood was up, and the driver’s side door was open. She peeked at the engine—she couldn’t see anything obvious, but she really didn’t expect to. She had done a little work on tractor engines back home, but she was no mechanic. She had felt pushed by an otherworldly power to move, would divine providence smile on her again? Would the engine start for her, when it hadn’t for them?

Listening, she could still hear Marcos descending. He wasn’t particularly agile, given all the slipping, stumbling and stomping sounds she heard. He wasn’t moving very quickly, yet he was moving farther away. She listened for a minute more to his retreating sounds, then slipped into the driver’s seat. Looking in the back, she could see four girls on the floor, hands tied.

One looked like a native. She had dark skin and dark hair. Her features reminded her a little of native Americans. The second was a tall, striking, athletic-looking blonde with exotic features and full lips.

Her throat caught as she examined the other two. They were her roommates.

“Sarah? Mer?” she whispered. Meredith opened her eyes slowly; she moaned and tried to focus on Jessica.

“Jess?”

“Yeah Mer,” Jess said, “It’s me.”

Meredith tried to rub her face, but her movements were slow and uncoordinated, “Why are you here?” The words came out slurred, a bit like she was drunk, but not quite the same.

“I’m gonna get you outta here.” Jessica said with quiet conviction. She twisted around to face forward. She slipped out of the van, and carefully lowered the hood without latching it, that would have to wait until after they were away.

Jessica slid back into the driver’s seat and checked the radio to make sure it was off. She turned the ignition key one click, lights came on. The battery was probably good, then. She took a deep confident breath, set her jaw, pressed the clutch to the floor and turned the ignition. The starter emitted an unpleasant screech. The engine didn't turn over.