Chapter 7: Sticks or Stones

After their daughter had left, Tom and Bets spent the next few hours going over their moving list. Wendi had left an impression on the two of them that hit both of them hard. They had been thinking of the immediate future and not realizing they would, for all intents and purposes, be jump-starting an entire civilization! It was be back to the damn drawing board for the two of them.

"Honey, where do you see us, ten years from now? How many people will be with us for both security and a chance at a new life?" Bets asked.

She was trying to see if his answer matched up with her own.

Tom deliberated for a minute or two going over the daunting task of just how many people he could train in basic survival, using more than the stabbing spears they had seen the Mags use to kill both each other and the different game with. It's no wonder that the groups are so small, and there are so few men in each one.

'Hell if all that stood between death and me, was a damned pointed stick, I wouldn't last too long either, ' he thought.

Tom next went over just how many people he could effectively train quickly to use both bows and arrows and the Atlatl.

'At least the Atlatl would give them a better chance to defend themselves at a distance, rather than stand toe to toe with a damned long-tooth cat!' he thought.

A lot depended on how long it took to communicate with the Mags, and just how quickly they learned. Everything he had read in the last few hours of study, showed that they were just as intelligent as most humans of today. It seemed more of a 'let's stay with what we know' type approach, more than anything else. He had even seen the same sorry thinking applied in his own military brass. How many lives could have been saved with the advanced technology that sat in mothballs because it was not 'financially feasible', compared to what was already available.

'Look at the poor guys in Iraq right now! Fucking armor so crappy it was like shooting through wet paper! Of course let some damn big brass show up and he rode around in the latest shit that came out of the "thinkers and tinkers" showroom, ' Tom thought angrily, as he remembered attending the latest funeral of one of his old team's boys.

Bets had noticed the change in her husband's face and knew that he was way off chasing a rabbit trail. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him softly for a full minute, before he finally returned her kiss.

"Sorry, Sweets, I got a little side tracked there. I was thinking about Frank's boy," he said with a slight smile, but his eyes were like flat slate as he watched another young man go into a needless grave in his mind.

"I know baby, but we really have to make a real effort to get ready, so we don't end up in a dirt hole ourselves, all right?" she said, squeezing him tightly.

The look in Tom's eyes was the same one he would have when he left on a mission and turned into a different man. It was like looking at a cold, stone, emotionless wall. Nothing could penetrate it.

Bets felt Tom's hand run through her hair softly and knew that her man was back from that hellish place in his mind. She was the only true hammer that could break that damn stone wall down, and she prayed it wouldn't come up again until their life was in real danger.

"Baby, I think we need to look at about thirty to forty for a group, until we have turned them into real warriors and hunters. From what I saw, they don't let the women carry any weapon other than a flint knife for cleaning game," Tom said thoughtfully.

"Than we can't just drop a bunch of firearms into their hands right off the bat. It seems like we need to get the chauvinistic idiots to realize they're cutting their own throats having over half of their group sitting on the sidelines," Bets affirmed.

Tom sighed, sitting back down in front of the laptop, "Yep, I guess I'm gonna have to kill a few, until I get rid of all the dumb ones."

"What do you think about weapons for them until they wise up a bit?" Bets asked, looking over his shoulder.

Tom was typing as fast as he could and soon had a site on ancient weapons loading up.

"This is what I'm thinking of babe," he said, pointing at the screen (http://www.atlatl.com/archeology.html).

"A stick? What the hell good is a damn stick besides playing fetch with man's best friend? Don't tell me your plan is to throw a damn stick at a saber-tooth cat, tell it to fetch, and then run as fast as you can?" she said, snickering.

"Nah, baby. Hell I would have to kick my own ass if that was the plan. No, look a little closer. See how one end is burrowed out? A small spear goes into it, and the whole thing rests on your forearm. Then you whip the stick forward and BLAM you have a small but fast moving wooden missile," Tom explained.

Bets was excited, now as she caught on to how much velocity could be imparted to a weapon like this using the leverage of a human's arm.