Chapter 321

The Prison Planet

Morales had become an avid reader of the papers written by the scientists who studied 2214-XR, in addition to the other survival books and articles that the General's people had sent. Other than the antelope, he had little knowledge about field dressing an animal. So prior to leaving on his hunting trip this morning, he had reviewed what the books said about the subject, hoping to simplify the process somewhat now that he had done it once. But ... reading and doing were different things, obviously, and the latter was still a whole lot bloodier.

The bull was so big, though only half-grown, that even moving the guts out of the way became a problem. Then, when he had managed that without getting feces all over himself, he was faced with the weight of the beast – weight so great that he couldn't turn the bull over to complete his skinning, no matter how hard he tried. There was no alternative; he had to cut the animal up as he skinned it, which further increased the bloodiness of the whole dressing process. At least his hatchet and knife were razor sharp. Determination won out in the end, and he managed to get the skin off in one piece, and ... without getting the meat he was going to keep into the dirt during the process.

He supposed that repetition would eventually make him better at field dressing, but constantly looking over his shoulder to check for a predator stalking him while also keeping a check on the rest of the nearby buffalo herd, was beginning to make him paranoid. Every unusual sound caused him to start and focus his full attention on the noise. He knew that predators like the panther thing would smell the blood and come running. He had to hurry, but he didn't want to damage the hide with its thick, soft hair if at all possible.

Finally, he had the big case full of what the books indicated were the prime choices of meat – well, for beef, anyway – and after a struggle, he finally balanced the heavy hide on top of the load. When he was able to move the case, he mentally thanked the designer for its balance and the wide wheels that didn't bury up in the soft dirt.

He managed to get the heavily-laden case the quarter mile to the beginning of the woods before he had to rest. Panting, he leaned against it, not daring to sit where his vision would be further obscured as he, for the hundredth time it seemed, scanned the plain and the tall grass for signs of anything that might have him tagged for lunch. Every time he thought of that panther, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Oh, fuck. I still have a long way to go," he groused aloud, "but I have one hell of a lot of meat to show for my morning's work, and a great hide to help keep my ass warm come winter." Looking down at his bloody hands, he continued with his muttering, "Looks like those fuckers could have realized I would need a fucking rag. I've got blood and gore all over my hands and my crossbow, and no fucking way to wipe it off. I guess I should have brought a piece of hide with me for that, but if I keep cutting pieces off my antelope hide, there won't be enough left to make anything useful with it."

As he grabbed the pull handle and continued on his way, I wonder if I can make some kind of harness to help me pull this thing. Of course, it would have to be something I could get out of in a hurry, should I need to defend myself.

A little later, he let out a chuckle. Hey, I had never even thought about cocking a crossbow while lying down – until I shot that buffalo, that is. Shit, they say that necessity is the mother of invention. I didn't have any problem at all then, just turned over on my back, stuck my foot in the stirrup, flipped the cocking rope on and within a couple of seconds, I was putting a bolt in the slot. I sure didn't feel any strain when I pulled up on that cocking rope. It was as if there was no resistance at all. Being scared shitless had a whole lot to do with it, I suppose, he finished with another chuckle.

A while later, a wheel caught on a root and he fell hard to his knees. "Fuck, this is getting to be a habit," he groused aloud. He knew he had barked the skin on his right knee, but he was more worried about his fatigues than his skin. A quick examination revealed that the tough material had survived the fall unscathed, yet again, but because of the burning on his knee, he knew that his skin had not fared as well. Shit. Another scrape to go with all the others and my blisters. At least, I didn't tear my pants.

Thinking about Robertson's case hanging in the tree and the extra fatigues it contained brought back his thoughts about retrieving the other case and the supplies in it. I need to go get the case before something happens to it, but I need to get this meat processed and the hide scraped first. Shit, why did I have to get partnered up with that idiot? Oh, he was smart enough – smarter than I am, probably – but he wouldn't face reality. That made him an idiot in my book.

Shit. If he had accepted what was happening to us, and got his head on straight, I could have had somebody to help. It would have been a lot safer for both of us and we could have gotten a whole lot more done. Oh, crap. I need to forget the what ifs and get my mind on the what is. Ha. Fat chance, he would have helped me, anyway. Ordered me around would have been more like it. Back to reality.

Time to get this meat dried and finish putting in the larger entrance poles. But I have to store up food and hides for winter. With the cave open the way it is, I'll freeze my ass off come cold weather, and that entrance is going to take a lot to close it off. Come to think of it, I suppose I should think about closing off thirty feet or so of the cave from the rest of it. I don't know how cold it will get in there, but if the cave has another opening somewhere, it might get damn cold. Shit, that means more hides, and ... I need to think about getting started cutting and splitting wood so it has time to dry before I need so much of it. Shit. Shit. Shit. So many things to do.

Dragging the heavy case on, he continued thinking as he maneuvered around a thicket of young trees. Another thing. That plain seems like my best bet for a place to hunt, but dragging the loaded case through these woods is not going to cut it. I need to spend some time clearing a trail. I can smooth up some of these humps and holes with a shovel, and cutting down a bush or small tree every now and then will shorten the distance I have to drag this thing, not to say anything about throwing some of the rocks out of the way, he finished as he bent to do just that so he could continue.

A few minutes later, he stopped in a small clearing to rest. While there, he noticed a group of plants growing near a spring. Curious, and vaguely remembering seeing a picture of the plants in one of the papers written by the scientists, he walked over for a closer inspection. The ground between the plants was cracked open and something was peeking out. Scrabbling in the soft dirt with his hands, he dug up a tuber that vaguely resembled a potato.

After washing the dirt off in the spring, he cut a chunk and took a tentative bite. The taste was fairly bland, but there wasn't anything offensive about it. Making up his mind, he dug up a dozen or so of them out of the soft dirt, careful to disturb the plants as little as possible, washed the pseudo-potatoes and nestled them onto the hide so they wouldn't fall off. Now if I had some onions and carrots, I could make sort of a stew, he thought. Well, maybe later. In the meantime, I'll do some more reading and keep my eyes open.

More and more, he was beginning to realize that the knowledge of the planet provided by the scientists might well keep him from an early death here. Seems like I remember something about scientists liking to publish everything they can. Well, I guess I'm glad these guys did. I damn sure have a lot of the stuff to read. Hmmm, I need to concentrate on learning what grows here. Maybe I can store some vegetables, too.

Finally, he was back at the cave, but dragging the loaded case through the narrow opening on the hillside just about used up the last of his strength. He collapsed in the dust of the dirt floor. After sitting there for a few minutes, he removed his boots, then struggled back to his feet. He had washed most of the blood off his hands while at the spring, but he was far from clean, and his clothes were covered with partially dried blood and dirt. Grimacing, he picked up his bloody crossbow, and grabbing a piece of hide he had been using for a wash rag, stumbled down to the stream.

After carefully scanning the area, he placed his crossbow on a boulder and waded to the middle, then plopped down in the water, clothes and all. After the initial shock of the cold water on his back, it soon felt wonderful to his sweat-soaked and overheated body, but it stung the skinned knee.

Lying all the way back and holding his nose, he submerged himself for a few seconds, then rose up to strip off his clothes. Looking at his skinned knee, he muttered, "Dammit, they could have sent a fucking bar of soap with me so I could have, at least, cleaned my damn knee properly." But he was too tired to be mad for long.

He washed himself, paying particular attention to the skinned place, despite the stinging, then washed his clothes and hung them on a bush to dry, all the while keeping an almost unconscious vigil for the cat or other predators. With the dampened wash rag, he wiped his bloody hand prints from the crossbow and set it aside to fully dry while he stretched out in the stream again to enjoy being cool and clean.

After a few minutes, he stood and wiped the water from his body. I'm gonna need something for a towel come winter. Then again, I'm the only one who is going to smell me, so who gives a shit if I stink, but ... I can't go hunting while reeking of me, and expect to sneak up on any of these animals. They'll smell me a mile away. Oh, well, I guess I can heat water in a bucket and take a sponge bath when I have to. I'm sure as hell not going to break ice to take a bath in this.

Back in the cave and feeling better, he moved the case over to the side. After putting his potatoes on a shelf, he slid the hide off, leaving it rolled in a bundle on the floor of the cave. He would get back to it when he had the meat taken care of. Peeling half the potatoes, he cut them into small chunks and put them in a pot, then cut up a large chunk of the fresh meat into smaller pieces before adding it and water to the vessel. He attached the bail to the pot and positioned it so that its contents would simmer over a low fire.

He positioned a flat rock over the fire and set his skillet there to heat. After checking one of his books to make sure of the location, he cut out two thick rib eye steaks, and dropped them into the skillet, the meat sizzling as it hit the hot metal. The sound and smell soon spread about him, making him even more ravenous. He had seldom been able to afford rib eye, and he hoped that this steak would be as good as the same cut of beef, but beef or not, he was ravenous and tired of chewing on antelope jerky.

He had already noted that the buffalo meat didn't seem to have as much fat in it as he was used to with beef – nor did the antelope, for that matter. But as soon as he bit into the first bite, he realized that the meat couldn't be more tender, and the taste, though similar to beef, seemed to have a stronger flavor, and ... he liked it – a lot. Maybe it's because I had to work so hard to get it, but this has got to be the best tasting steak I've ever eaten in my life, even without having any salt or steak sauce. A contented sigh escaped his lips as his face broke into a grin.

He had wolfed down the first steak, but went slower with the second one, savoring the flavor. With his meal over, he rinsed his skillet and set it aside, then checked on his stew, stirred it and moved it a little farther from the fire to allow it to cook a bit slower.

With a full belly and a sigh, he came to his feet. He needed to add to his wood supply before dark. From the looks of the plains, rain in this area was plentiful, and that had certainly been the case since he had arrived. He had cut up several downed trees into sections with his biggest saw, and now was the time to split and bring in more wood before it rained again. Just as he reached the entrance, he turned to look back. Twenty feet into the cave, the roof sloped upward from the eight feet or so at the entrance. Hmmm. There's plenty of room to swing my maul back there. There's no reason to split wood on the hillside when I can bring the sections in here and do my splitting in safety.

The bottom sections of the downed trees were too heavy to bring back whole, so he had to split them in half, but for the rest, he could do all the splitting – at least from these two smaller trees – in the cave. The light wasn't the best in the world away from the entrance, but he was becoming accustomed to the gloom and the flickering light of his torches.