Confrontation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 4) Page 8

  The creature takes a step toward me and I begin to panic. If it picks me up, I fear that my life will be over.

  “AAAAARGH!” Liam screams and runs past me toward the creature.

  In a violent collision, the creature falls backward to the ground. Liam holds his newly conquered ground and readies for retaliation.

  Hopping to its feet, the creature squares to Liam and slowly walks forward. Its hands are flexing and the eyes seem to be showing fear. Closer and closer it inches toward Liam, who I can now see is trembling slightly.

  “Seamus, I’m going to need you to get up,” my brother says through gritted teeth.

  I struggle to my feet. Breathing is still difficult and I feel slightly dizzy from the temporary lack of air. Shuffling towards Liam, I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t have hit it. Stopping short probably would have scared it off,” I lecture him, even though now is not the time.

  “Well I panicked a little. Should we run?” he asks.

  “Not yet. Just don’t let it pick you up or it’s lights out,” I explain.

  The creature walks closer to us and its fear seems to have turned to anger.

  “Think kind thoughts. I have a bizarre feeling that it can sense emotions.” There is no logic to my impression, but it feels right.

  Slowly Liam and I start to back away. My head races between thoughts. Anger, fear, confusion and sadness blend together. How does one be kind and not submissive? Can I be benevolent but not weak?

  My eyes never break from the creature. We are locked in a silent probe of intentions. The old adage “it is more afraid of me than I am of it” comes to mind, but that can’t possibly be true.

  Communication is not my strong suit. In fact, before our encounter with this thing, communication was the root of my biggest problems. It’s ironic that I am the one here trying to find a way to get through to this creature.

  Once there is significant distance between us Liam turns his back to the creature and walks quickly towards the central cabin. I continue walking backward until the creature turns and heads off on the path away from our village.

  Chapter 13

  Grace enters the clearing in a foul mood. Her hair is damp with sweat, but she is not carrying anything. She is only a few months pregnant, but I’m worried that she is exerting too much energy on community projects.

  “They found a new way to have guns kill people,” she says, enraged.

  She doesn’t know that Jake is dead and it had nothing to do with a gun. How do I change the subject from what has her so agitated to something that will undoubtedly be worse?

  “What do you mean?” Cassandra speaks first.

  “The space plane had a small armory on board. I caught David moving some of the guns to the cave. He bragged that it was only a small sampling of the iron he had packed. That asshole wasn’t going with Liam to help salvage reactors, he was going to get guns.” Grace is defiant, hands on hips.

  Henry thought the pedal generator they snuck onto the space plane caused the crash. It may have contributed, but it appears that it was not the only contraband that would have had an effect on the flight capabilities of the craft.

  During the apocalypse we carried guns and I became comfortable with it. When we realized that the only remaining threat was microbial, we stopped and I was thrilled about that.

  Dad is a firm believer in the notion that guns don’t do bad things; people do bad things with guns. Regardless of whether or not I agree with him, we are in a predicament. Several people wanted to go on the offensive when they discovered that Luke’s hand had been severed. How will we contain their rage when they find out that Jake has died?

  “Grace, we need to tell you something,” I say.

  “It better not be that you agreed to the guns and think they were a good idea. Jake knows how to fly and we’ve talked about why pilots need to know how much people weigh. If there is too much weight or the weight is not distributed correctly, it can literally cause the plane to crash. As far as I’m concerned, Mike and David killed the three people in the space plane,” she answers.

  I blurt, “Jake is dead.”

  “What?”

  My English does not register with her.

  Sofie shoves me to the side as she rushes past. Out of nowhere Dad appears and the two of them wrap their arms around Grace. Her face disappears in their embrace. My father looks back at me with disgust.

  Hemming and hawing would only have built her fear and apprehension. Like ripping off a bandage strip bad news should be shared not couched. It’s not about how you hear the news; it’s about how you deal with it.

  “Are you sure he’s not just back in a coma?” she asks.

  “Yes,” Dad says. “I’m sorry, but we had to take care of the body, he’s down by the garden and I we should bury him soon. I can take you to him and give you some time to say goodbyes, but...”

  Sobs rumble forth and I can see my sister’s legs go limp. Sofie and Dad hold her up. Dad kisses her forehead and whispers something softly.

  Chapter 14

  I didn’t stay with my sister. Mom and Dad and Sofie all sat with her while she cried. With as far as I have come socially and emotionally, the “right way” to deal with this tragedy still escapes me.

  A “there, there” and hair stroking are not helpful for any situation, and that includes the death of a loved one. My mother’s voice echoes in my head: “Treat Grace the way you would want to be treated.” I would want to be left alone.

  A running fictional argument takes over in my mind:

  ‘No, you wouldn’t want to be left alone.’

  ‘Yes I would. Like, seriously alone, days’ walk away from another human being alone.’

  ‘But you would be hurting and sad. Having someone who loves you close by would help you feel better.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because companionship is a key part of human life.’

  ‘Not for me. At least, not anymore.’

  Nothing could be done about Jake’s death. It all happened so fast that we couldn’t stop it. No amount of comforting or talk will bring him back. My sister is going to have legitimate needs for assistance soon.

  Caring for Remmie and her infant child will be harder without help from Jake. Each of us taking on one extra chore for her is will help.

  We don’t have to forget Jake or suddenly decide he was anything less than a good guy, but we do have to move on. Our continued survival is close to the only thing that would make the loss of his life worth anything.

  With that in mind, I turn back to the reactor I am working on. My original intent had been to make them small and portable enough to carry in a backpack. The urgency of creating the final iteration required that some components expand. Now I look at those components sadly and see opportunities for efficiencies and size and weight reduction.

  If I were back home in my basement lab, I could make design changes to shrink the entire system. Unfortunately I am not back home; I am in a crude cabin on an alien planet and once again there is urgency to my work. I guess it’s true that deadlines are the best way to make things happen.

  Both of the reactors salvaged from the space plane are in relatively good shape. Cleaning out some of the dust that gathered once they were brought back to dry land was easy enough. The few loose connections were quickly secured and I am confident from a visual inspection that the devices are safe and ready to go through a verification check.

  Exhaustion is setting in. I have been up for an entire rest cycle poring over these units. Some food and water will help, and since I need to bring the reactors to the central cabin to start them, I will stop and get something to eat.

  As I walk to the central cabin carrying one unit, I can’t help but wonder where I will get straps. The backpacks we brought with us have been converted for use in hauling produce from the garden.

  We salvaged seat belts from all the planes, but I don’t know where they are stored. I’ll ne
ed to wait for Dad to wake up so I can ask him. Just like at home, he has stuff stashed all around the village with no semblance of order. He won’t be able to tell me where they are, but once I ask he will miraculously appear with more than I need.

  Once the two new portable units are ready, I will go back to being of little value to our survival efforts. It feels really nice to be needed. I’m supposed to go find Luke and Sonjia, but that’s not because they need it to be me. In fact, most everyone is probably annoyed that I’m part of that effort.

  The rescue mission, if that’s what we can call it, is going to change, too. The plan had been to send two people off with one portable reactor. But that was the plan before a creature walked into our village and perforated Jake’s skull.

  Now I’m hearing what amount to battle cries. Search-and-rescue has become seek-and-destroy based on the assumption that we were attacked. The military minds want to engage and flank the natives. The naiveté is fitting for North America in the early 1800s, but this is a different planet and a different time. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, my father used to say. He didn’t remember the original source.

  Would North America have turned out differently if we had sent strong women in to engage with the Native Americans? Instead of men bearing arms, maybe a woman with bare arms could have communicated and worked toward mutual understanding.

  Grace would tell me that I’m using sexist thinking. It’s not about men and women; it’s about attitude. The goal is to encounter new people or species with an open mind and an awareness of emotion. Understanding the other side of your encounter allows both sides to benefit from the meeting.

  My sister would be right with her assessment. It’s likely that I am in the minority on this thinking. I’ll need to take the push for changing the charter of the mission and flip it to my advantage. To do that, I need to determine my end goal. What would I consider the ideal away team to be for this mission?

  Lost in thought, I stumble on something that was left in the path. Instinctively I want to lash out at Liam for leaving stuff around. This isn’t a pair of sneakers or a lacrosse stick, though. On the ground is a bowl or a platter of some sort.

  The platter is made of a material I cannot identify. Its blue-green color emits a faint glow. As I move around it, the glow appears to ebb and flow like water, though it may be just my changing perspective.

  On the platter is an array of items I have never seen. Some are round, others are oblong, and all look to be natural. The colors on the platter are brilliant: oranges, reds, blues and pinks. My initial impression is that they are food items. I’m not sure if they were grown or made, and for some reason I am afraid to touch them.

  I hesitate, unsure whether I should stop and assess this discovery or continue to the central cabin with my reactor. If this is a trap, the others will lose not only me, but the reactor as well. Determining that my invention is more important than I am, I push my curiosity aside and continue to the central cabin.

  At the cabin I take my reactor inside and down to the cold storage cave. I feel like this is the safest place we have. Suddenly I feel like having a keep makes sense. We don’t need to use it to store weapons, but some measure of security seems prudent.

  Coming back up the ladder and out of the central cabin, I am surprised to see Liam standing in the path. He is holding the blue-green platter with one hand and sloppily eating something with his other.

  “Hey Seamus,” he garbles out of his full mouth.

  “Are you eating the stuff from that plate?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “It’s so good,” he says.

  I point out a valid reason for concern. “What is it and where did it come from?”

  My brother stops chewing and looks down at the plate. Slowly he walks over to our table and puts the plate down. His mind is constantly racing, and right now that fact is plastered across his face.

  “The plate is cold. Like, not cool to the touch but actually cold, almost like it was made of ice.” He looks at me a little sideways.

  “And you think that what you put in your mouth was definitely food?” I’m not even sure how to ask the right questions.

  “I would call it fruit?” He’s the only one who has eaten it and he’s not even sure if his idea is correct.

  “Do you feel okay?” I ask. I guess it only matters if he gets sick.

  “Not now! I’m freaking out and my mouth feels like it’s on fire,” Liam says, panicking. His face is flushing and I can see a bead of sweat on his forehead.

  “How many did you try?” I don’t know how to help him and he is not forthcoming with information, so I have to probe.

  “Just the yellow one. It tasted like a raspberry, kind of, but had the consistency of a banana. It was shaped kind of like a mango. The aftertaste keeps changing! Now it’s really bitter and not spicy any more. Bleh!” He starts spitting and vibrating his tongue and lips.

  He needs to cleanse his pallet. Back home, milk was always a good way to get spicy food out of your mouth, but we haven’t had milk since we left Earth. Maybe a carrot will help scrub the inside of his mouth? Liam loves those and we have plenty.

  I dash into the central cabin and down to the cold storage cellar. Grabbing a bunch of carrots, I look around to see if there are any other foods that seem like they could help wash out a mouth. We don’t have any mint or parsley; I would have thought those were seeds that made the cut for bringing with us. That was not my area of responsibility though, so I need to move on.

  When I’m back outside the cabin I find my brother sitting on a bench with his head between his knees. There is dark sludge and spittle falling from his mouth and dropping into a pile at his feet.

  Initially I think that the substance is blood, that my brother is having his insides destroyed by a poison. Then I notice his hands and see the dirt gripped firmly in the right one, some bits of soil sticking to the outside of his open left hand.

  Looking up and smiling at me exposes a tiny bit of mud on his chin.

  “Remember when we went camping and had to brush our teeth with baking soda? This is like that but grosser,” he explains.

  “Here, eat a carrot. It will help your mouth, but I’m not sure it can do anything for your brain.” Sometimes it scares me to think about how his brain might work.

  Without spitting out the rest of the mud, Liam chomps down on the first carrot. He chews for a little bit and then starts making a small hole with his foot.

  After checking to see if anyone is watching him, he leans over and spits a disgusting orange brown blob into the shallow hole. It lands with a thud and I watch him run is tongue over his teeth a few times before spitting again. Using his foot, he covers the pile of gross with a little soil.

  I hand him the rest of the carrots, and say, “Take the rest of these and go to the latrine. Basically throwing up right here where we eat is disgusting.”

  If this was a trap and the stuff on the plate was poison, it’s too late for me to do anything for Liam. He sealed his own fate when he let his lack of impulse control win out over the common sense to not eat something if you don’t know what it is.

  I’ve learned an important but frightening lesson. The natives can enter and leave our camp at will, and unnoticed. This time they left a platter of what may be fruit; next time, it could be a bomb or some other type of weapon.

  While I wait to find out if Liam’s insatiable appetite will result in long-term harm, I need to get the second reactor to the central cabin. Then I need to get both reactors operational. If we have to bug out, I want to make sure we can take them with us and they can provide the radiation shielding we need.

  Surprisingly Liam has been quiet through the entire ordeal. The rest of the village is still asleep. Hopefully I will be able to offer options for them as soon as they awake.

  Chapter 15

  Sometimes I think my dad misses lecturing us. When he arrived at the central cabin, Liam was back and still chew
ing a mound of carrots. I couldn’t stop smiling because it looked like my brother was a heifer out in the field working its cud around. Dad was not amused, we need to be accountable for what we eat and he thought we were messing around.

  The lecture started calmly but eventually built to a full-on tirade. Dad hit all the classics: common sense, responsibility and communication. On top of that he added being a role model, which was new for us.

  Of course he’s right, and I have experienced enough of his lectures to know that he’s not looking for an answer or an explanation. He wants his point to sink in and talking back does not show that it has.

  When Dad finally calms down and starts puttering around the central cabin, Liam knows it’s time for his personality to take over.

  “Remember the candy we had in Mexico?” he asks.

  “Not particularly,” I reply.

  “Yeah, it was like hair or something. Brown stuff you squeezed out a guy’s head and then licked,” Liam continues.

  “That sounds so disgusting I might puke from your description,” I say, but I’m curious about where he might be going with this tangent.

  “Well, that’s what this new fruit reminds me of. Hair candy.” He giggles a little.

  “Why are you talking about Pelon Pelo Rico?” Grace says, surprising us both.

  “What’s that?” Liam asks.

  “We had it in Mexico. It’s candy. It’s basically called ‘sweet hair’ because of the packaging. I liked the mango, but you loved the tamarind one,” she explains.

  “So translating from Liam to English, you think the fruit from this alien planet tastes like tamarind candy?” I say, trying to finish off another of my brother’s puzzling thoughts.

  “Yeah. Except it is a little sweeter and about a thousand times spicier,” he says, completing his comparison.

  “We found alien fruit?” Grace asks.