Adrift
Copyright© 2025 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 15
The next morning, the party going to the 747 was the smallest it had ever been -- nearly everything obvious had been removed. Now, Tom Grant, the flight engineer, and Roman Houghton were looking it over. It turned out that not only did Roman know how to make various kinds of bows but also knew a bit about armor and swords as well.
Harry walked behind Griff, with two Marines on either side of her, Owen behind her.
They stopped for a break halfway to the meadow, and Harry looked at Griff. “My father used to say he was afraid I was growing up ‘too cosseted.’ That was his word. Gosh, he’d be surprised to find out what ‘cosseted’ actually means.”
Griff nodded. “You didn’t say ‘too cosseted.’”
“I heard how they described the raptor attacks. I don’t think that you can be ‘too cosseted’ here.”
“I have trouble looking people in the eyes, knowing that Bess used up almost all of the antibiotics and all the pain pills ... and she is still not out of the woods,” Griff said.
“Griff, last night I heard Lieutenant Riley tell us why he’s not lost hope. I made his list.” She tapped herself. “Me! I wanted to do something important. I wanted to do things to save my life, my sister’s life, the lives of other people. In short, I wanted to be like Becky. I pretty much thought I’ve screwed up every step of the way.”
Griff laughed. “It was like that in the Corps. At first, everyone screams at you because you keep screwing up; no matter what you do, it seems, it was wrong.
“If you have any pride -- and Marines are taught pride from the first day -- you buckle down and work harder. It’s so gradual, you never notice. One day, the gunny points at you and says, ‘Square up these recruits!’ And you do. And of course, if you screw that up, you hear about it! But not many people screw it up -- the good Lord knows how many times you’ve had it explained to you! And you explain it to some hapless boot, and the boot looks at you with awe that you know all that shit. And you do.
“One day my gunny told me that I have a future in the Corps. I turned him down. I’m not sorry; I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Bess is everything I ever dreamed of! But here...” his voice trailed away.
“Here is here,” Harry said. “God, I hope Lieutenant Riley is right and we can do this without screwing up everything.”
Owen chuckled. “I’m all rested now, how about you, Harry?”
“I’m ready to go on,” Harry replied.
They didn’t take the same route to the meadow that they had followed before; they cut further inland. They passed a small rocky area, about an acre in extent. Griff climbed up on the rocks and looked westwards before he returned to the others.
“Maybe there’s a rainy season here,” he told them. “This little stream looks like the same one that runs through the green patch -- only it quickly grows in size. I don’t think we are more than a hundred feet higher than the lake, so the stream is probably spring-fed from some mondo large springs.
“In the desert of Afghanistan and Iran, I understand, there is an extensive network of tunnels that follow the aquifers. They don’t fight in the water tunnels; the fighting is saved for the mountains. The lowlands depend on the aquifers and tunnels over large areas.”
Owen Kingsbridge dipped down and started examining a rock. “Can we take five, Griff?” the anthropologist asked.
“We’ll have to move quicker returning, Owen.”
Owen turned to Harry and sat down on one of the many rocks.
“Harry, have you thought of another present to give?”
Harry shrugged. “I have no idea what I could offer that any of the people we met yesterday might like. I brought a pencil, a baby blanket, and a penknife. I was going to guess which would be best.”
“On Earth, particularly in the Far East, China, Japan, and Korea -- ginseng is a prized ingredient. It’s hard to grow -- direct sunlight will kill a ginseng plant in a few hours. It is a root, looking a little like ginger. Have you seen ginger for sale at the grocery store?”
“I’ve seen it marked on a shelf; I never paid it any mind,” she told him.
“Ginseng, and to a lesser extent, ginger, is a root. There are knobs and lumps on it. A ginseng root that is random and shapeless is worth a dollar or so. If it looks at all like a human -- it can be worth a thousand or more dollars. Orientals think that the human shape gives it extra power.”
Owen laughed. “I have a friend in the Pacific Northwest that grows ginseng. He grows it in little-shaped pots -- forcing it to look more human.
“Here, look at this.”
He handed Harry the rock he’d picked up. “Look at this. Two legs, two arms, a head -- and four breasts.”
“If you have a really good imagination,” Griff said with a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry said.
“This is for emergencies, only. If we don’t use it now, I’ll drill a hole in it and put it on a short necklace. The thing is, Harry, this is like what I talked about offering gifts to an Arab with your right or left hand. Some people are less sophisticated than others -- they might figure an image is harmful -- and kill you. Some people might value such an image beyond your wildest dreams. Think Mona Lisa.
“I have no idea which way things would go. It could be dangerous ... or those hominids could trade a year’s worth of food for it. And, I might add, trade isn’t a zero-sum game -- they could get rich themselves.
“If it were me, I’d let them see it, but not offer it. If they look upset, cover it with dirt or sticks. It may be you are on solid ground -- and it may well be that you’re not. If you have any doubts, keep it in your pocket. I’ll find a way to leave it where they can find it, and we can watch how they react.”
Harry looked at Owen, now offering her the root. With a shrug, she took it and slipped it into her jacket pocket.
In less than an hour, they were back at the meadow. As before, they stopped at the edge of the forest verge and looked out.
“There are three birds out there this time, not two,” Owen said. “There is something different about them...”
Harry sniffed. “You mean the white bands on the wings?”
Owen nodded. “And they seem smaller. But just as I’m reluctant to take a rectal thermometer to their backsides, I’m hesitant to tape measure them.”
“Harry,” Griff said, “show yourself, but don’t go much further than a couple of feet beyond the trees. Birds with a wingspread like theirs can’t fly in the trees.”
“Harry, if you have to pull back, get behind a tree until you see what they do,” Owen said. “Hawks and eagles close their wings and can glide into the forest.”
Harry spread her hands and took a step out into the meadow. The birds, this time, seemed to be ignoring her.
Owen spoke softly, “I don’t think these are the ones from the other day, Harry. Before, you crouched, bending both legs. This time, go down on one knee, and be ready for anything.”
Harry went down on one knee. And sure enough, she could see the same hominid, or one like it, when she was at eye level with it. The hominid was waving, crossing her arms -- but nodding at the same time.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other, Harry thought. She said mildly, “Shit coming, Griff.”
“Roger that, Harry. You be careful now, you hear!”
“I can see one of the hominids. I think it’s the same hominid as the other day. She’s nodding, but waving her hands like a cut-off. Mixed signals for us, but maybe not for them. I’m going to start to stand,” Harry said.
She started to rise, but one of the birds gave a little hop and dived at her.
Harry ducked behind a nearby tree, but stumbled on a root. The bird’s head pecked where she would have been if she’d been on her feet.
She pulled out Jack’s pistol, and when the bird cocked its head to look at her, preparing to strike, she shot it in the eye.
The bird in the meadow launched ... but it flew low over the river. It headed across the lake, away from the mainland, steadily climbing.
The bird that had nearly pecked Harry had a stream of fluid and then some tissue come out of its eye, jerking its head back. Griff fired one shot, and the bird flopped bonelessly on the ground.
Harry stood up, wary of the bird. The little hominid startled her by running towards her and grabbing Harry’s thighs and hugging her tight, while singing up a storm.
Harry, in turn, stroked the fine fur that covered her, humming softly.
Owen spoke quietly, “Harry, if you have a hairbrush or comb, use that. Mutual grooming is important to most hominids on Earth. Go slow, be gentle.”
Harry pulled her comb out of her fanny pack and ran it through her own hair, getting a gratifying number of leaves and other forest debris out of her hair. She waved it at the little female, asking if she wanted to use it.
The little hominid looked around carefully, then took it and examined the comb closely. She had no idea how to use it, however, and then Harry took it and showed her how it worked. The hominid made a sound something like a rumble and not a purr, but it was clear she liked it.
After a minute or so, the little hominid jerked and looked around again. Then she walked over and kicked the bird. She stood up tall and waved at Harry, and then walked over to one of the bird’s wings, which she had trouble pulling away from the body.
Owen stepped up and had an easier time of it. Then the little person pointed to the white stripe on the wing and then ostentatiously kicked it. She moved a few feet down the wing, to where it was the same color as the birds that they had met, then faced Harry and did a very human-like gesture, cupping a finger from each hand and then linking them together.
Griff spoke up. “Two different tribes -- or species -- of birds. The ones without a white stripe are friends, while the white stripes are enemies.”
Harry went down on one knee, and the hominid handed the comb back, and Harry returned it to her. The hominid’s eyes grew large, and she bowed to Harry and dipped her head in the direction of Owen and Griff.
The hominid pointed at the sun and made a sweeping gesture, returning to where the sun was. Then she pointed to Harry and made walking motions with her fingers and waving down to the lake.
“She’ll be here tomorrow, down by the lake,” Owen said.
Harry nodded to her and repeated the gestures, showing them walking. The hominid beamed and ran quickly to the bush she had been hiding under. She picked up a small bag, drew out something, and started flashing it towards the shore.
Suddenly, birds started to lift off, not just one or two, but dozens and dozens. The first few headed straight towards the island, while the rest did as before, rising steadily to great heights. The little hominid waited until the ones coming straight on were halfway, then she came back to the humans. She made mouth-moving gestures with her hands, then pointed to the oncoming birds.
“Do you realize what we just saw?” Owen exclaimed. “The hominids and birds can talk to each other by something like Morse code. Which means, we can talk to both groups as well if we can learn the code.”
“And, more important, the hominids have some sort of treaty of understanding with the birds, a treaty of cooperation. We have many tons of metal we can offer; we have skills we can offer.” Owen half-sobbed. “We have a chance of survival. A real chance.”
Five of the birds landed a dozen yards from the hominid, and the first two walked forward. The hominid gestured at the dead bird. There was a low trill from the birds, but it was a single note. The hominid gestured at Harry and flashed the mirror at the birds. The one evidently was the leader; it dipped its head down and pulled something from its leg.
“It” turned out to be a mirror as well, and the bird flashed a message to the hominid very fast. The bird hopped over to the dead bird and inspected it carefully.
The bird made some sort of noise to the other, and the other replied.
“I’m going out on a limb here, but the bird that’s talking is displaying plumage very much like a female on Earth. The hominids left a female behind to talk to us as well. Perhaps these are matriarchies.”
Owen stopped for a second. “Harry, take off your jacket and blouse again. Let them see you are a woman.”
“A small woman...” Harry reminded him.
“They have immature members of the species, just like we do,” Owen said.
Harry shucked out of her jacket and undid her blouse. The hominid trilled what was obviously a question. “Harry, mime being cold and wrapping clothes around you,” Owen told her.
Since it was still morning and quite chill, Harry had no trouble with that. Then, Harry waved at the bracelet she’d gotten. It didn’t fit comfortably anywhere on her body, but she had it wrapped around her thigh, outside her clothes.
The bird twisted its head, like someone saying “no!” emphatically. Then the mirror flashed in its beak, and the hominid walked up to it. It started fumbling with something beneath the bird, and suddenly Harry laughed. She called out to the hominid. She pointed to it, then linked her fingers and made flapping signs.
The hominid shook its head, and Harry resisted the temptation to nod. She pointed north to where even now the tail of the 747 was sticking out of the water. She pointed to herself, then the others in the party, and then pointed again to the aircraft and made flapping motions.
The bird emitted a “Skreee!” but not nearly as loud as before, then turned and ran a few steps and hopped into the air. Its feet came up, and it dipped down even so, but powerful beats of the wing lifted it high into the air.
“Oh, my God, Harry, you were carrying on a dialog with the bird and the little person!” Griff gushed.
Owen bowed to Harry. “My hat is off to you, Harry!”
Harry preened. “It is going to be really hard to remember to nod when you mean no and shake your head yes.”
“You figured that out on your own, Harry! You learn much faster than some of my peers ever could learn in their entire careers!” Owen said.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.