The Long Weekend in the Woods - Chapter 4

Clever Adolescent Panda

I didn't hear anyone behind me as I followed the valley to the river. There wasn't anyone ahead of me as far as I could smell, either. I wished I knew where Calvin or Pollock were. I wanted to feel good that they were at least together, but I couldn't. Why did Pollock go a different direction? Was Calvin going to be safe with her? How the heck was I going to find them again?

I reached the river. I sank down behind a fallen tree and scanned both banks. No movement on the either side, but there were a few people floating with the current. They sounded relaxed, but one of them noticed me. He glanced my way, did a double-take, then tossed the bottle he was holding to a friend. He said something, and the rest of them laughed as they continued downstream.

The wind shifted and I picked up a new scent from across the water. Peanut butter and oats? Also grease, and a strong whiff of something rank. Was there an old auto yard around? Calvin told me some people down here just push their old cars into hollows, or right into a stream, but this smelled like it was big, whatever it was. It was worth looking into.

I splashed into the river and paddled across. I kept as much of myself underwater as I could. I hoped my big white head would get lost in the glare of the sun off the water. Nobody started shooting at me, so I pulled myself out on the other bank. I followed the scents gradually uphill to a bluff that overlooked the river, and there was a town, I guess. It was mostly built out of pizza boxes, bark, and old car bodies. So the buildings were low and broad, with a network of ditches that ran downhill to the bluff's edge. There were raccoons everywhere. The fur on my neck started to rise, but they stayed inside their homes. Most of them were winding pieces of wire through all sorts of shiny objects. While I tried to figure that out, a very chunky raccoon shuffled up to me.

He didn't seem threatening, so I decided to be friendly. "Hello, my name is -"

"Oh, we know who you are. You're the wonderful panda who gave us all those wrenches! And peanut brittle!"

"You're the ones who found Pollock's jetpack!"

"Indeed, indeed. Did you see what we've done with your gifts? My name's Jonathan, I lead our little community! Come, come, I'll give you a tour. Would you care for a snack? We have peanut butter rolled in oats!" He clapped and a tray rolled out to us, a paper plate on tired made of beer cans. He went on chatting. "We originally lived in dens, but they kept flooding from all the runoff uphill. So we turned them into drainages and storage ponds for a water supply, and built homes on the higher spots in between."

I nodded and kept looking around, noticing a pile of shiny metal off to one side. They were small rectangular boxes, some of which had been pulled apart. "What are those?"

Jonathan waved dismissively. "Oh, we used to loot those for food. One of my relatives stole one thinking the food would keep appearing each day. How silly! He formed a religion around it, but it didn't last since the food didn't appearing. I figured out the humans put the food in there. Now we make pretty things out of junk and trade it for the peanut butter and oats. Much more efficient."

"Er, yes, very. . . clever. What do you use the wrenches for?"

"Oh well, well, they're quite helpful with dismantling things. We're having more trouble using them to build things. You must have something to make a hole before you put a bolt through it to tighten with a wrench, you know."

At that point, another raccoon rushed up. "I've been telling you John, we need to start trading for more tools instead of just peanut butter all the time! Elementary sales theory says the people will get bored of our stuff and then we won't have any way to acquire what our village needs! We can go looking for food, like Jerry and his pals!"

"Malcolm, I've told you before your ideas are too depressing to take seriously. And go forage like Jerry?"

"Who is Jerry?"

"My nephew. He and his cronies hang out with a bunch of lazy bears that rob the locals. They use the metal stakes you gave us to shoot things instead of putting things together. It's so wasteful!"

Malcolm waved what looked like a wire figurine around. "Yeah, yeah, it's a poor use of resources for certain, but they aren't relying on people's interest in tacky crap to survive."

"Hey, hey, that one was made by my granddaughter!"

"Sorry, sorry. You're right, that was harsh."

I cut in. "It sounds like Jerry's guys were the ones who attacked my friends and I earlier today. We got separated and -"

Johnathan got very anxious. "What, what? They attacked you? Were you carrying picnic baskets? Did they have doughnuts in them? I can assure you, we had nothing to do with that! Although if you had any doughnuts left over -"

I shook my head. "No picnic baskets. We found a place where it looked like there'd been a fight, and then they started shooting at us."

Malcolm responded. "They probably thought you were part of that group that moved in earlier this year. Big, ugly things. I haven't seen them, mind you, but Jerry mentioned them during one of his visits."

"They haven't come here?"

"I don't think they can cross open water. Or they haven't felt like trying yet. But they sound destructive, so they'll have to move to a new place eventually."

"Malcolm, stop saying depressing things."

I sighed. "Where would I find Jerry?"

"That column of smoke back across the river. They live in a cave there."

"Well, that should be easy." Then a thought occurred to me. "Could one of you come with me? I may not have made a good first impression earlier."

Jonathan replied, "Sorry, sorry, but it's time for our lunch feast. Then there's the after-lunch feast nap. But they have those, too. By the time you get there, they'll just be waking up and much more relaxed."

That sounds good, but just in case, could I have a wrench?" They looked at me curiously. "In case they have anything that needs tightening. I could be helpful, and that might smooth things over. It would really mean a lot."

Calvin's smooth talk rubbing off on me. I felt a little guilty, but if there were going to be bears, this might be tougher than just raccoons.

Jonathan seemed eager to please. "Certainly, certainly. Claire! Wrench!" He shouted at a raccoon nearby who was using a wrench to twist stakes into some intricate design. It twisted and coiled in and around itself, jagged points aimed skyward.

"I'm using it!" She gestured at her work.

John sighed. "You can grab another from the storehouse. Our panda friend needs one now. They gave us these wrenches, after all." I waved, a little embarrassed.

Clare snorted, unimpressed. "'Gave'? I recall we "gave" up a sweet jetpack for those wrenches. You know what I could have done with that?!"

"Lit your home on fire? Oh wait, you managed that without a jetpack."

"Shut up Malcolm! I needed to see if I could mix whiskey with peanut oil and still get a usable fuel!"

"Fuel for what?" I was genuinely curious.

She shrugged. "Something big. I'm working on an engine to combine with whatever we need power for. Automatic gates to divert water, a wagon to haul larger loads, whatever."

"Cool," I reached into my pack (fortunately waterproof) and pulled out a vial. "This is a compound we came up with back home. It works well as a fuel, a little goes a long way, and you can dilute, but it loses some kick that way." I passed it to her.

"Oh. Thanks. Wow." She handed me the wrench. "Good, good luck finding your friends. Jerry shouldn't be too hard to deal with if you didn't beat anybody up."

"What if he attacked me first?"

"Then you should definitely get there right after their naps. It takes him a while to wake up fully."

"Right. Thank you!" I turned and hustled down the hill, then stopped. "I like your town. I think Malcolm is right about trading for more diverse supplies to make it even better, though." I continued on.

Malcolm turned to John. "See, see? The panda thinks I'm right."

Clare chimed in. "Yeah, so how about some belts and flywheels. Oooh, or maybe an arc welder. . ."

"Aww, you guys are ruining my appetite with all this. . ."

Calvin

As I predicted, Jerry and Rafe's boys showed up without my friend, but sporting bruises instead. I worked hard not to look smug. Especially since I wasn't sure they wouldn't be pissed about getting whupped.

"I think it headed towards the river, but we lost the trail there," one of them said.

"Did you see any sign of our third person? With the long hair and the cape?"

Shake of the head. "Her trail went uphill and kept going."

What to do then? Cell phones are spotty at best out here, and I wouldn't trust a radio if we had it. Odds of me finding either of them by just stumbling around? Low. There was smoke rising from one of the grills, but looking up, I couldn't tell how visible it would be. Or if they'd come investigate. We didn't plan this as well as we should have. Clearly, but we didn't have a good sense of what we were walking into. Failure of intelligence all around, gentlemen. Harrumph, harrumph.

We were headed in the direction of Cassanee's before this all went sideways, so I'll hope the others make it there eventually.

"I know you said it was deserted, but which way is Cassanee's village from here?"

"Up the ridge and follow the scent of exposed ground and rot."

"Um," I tapped my nose. "Can you put that in sensory input terms I can use?"

Rafe looked up from the grill at me. I got a little nervous seeing he was salivating and hoped he wasn't considering adding me to the grill. "Oh, right. If you get to the ridgeline and head that way," he gestured over his shoulder, "you'll come to what's left of an old camper. There'll be a trail that forks. Take a right, follow it. Eventually you'll see the exposed earth. Then you're there."

"Thanks. I appreciate the assist."

Rafe rolled to his feet and headed for the cave. "No problem. I'd send someone with you, but it's time for lunch, then a nap. Unless you can wait for a few hours. We're having grilled cheese and Twinkies."

A chorus rose from within the cave. "TWINKIES!"

"Tempting, but I better take advantage of all the light I have left. Could I get one of those stake guns?"

Jerry and Rafe exchanged a glance. "Have to be part of the group to get one of those. You interested in joining?"

"You gotta bring us a picnic basket first. And a cooler. With lemonade!"

"I'm not really a joiner. Thanks, though." With a short wave of my hand, I turned, and began to climb the hill. I paused at the top to check my direction against the position of the cave, and headed out. The gnats swarmed endlessly. I'd tell myself I was going to ignore them, then one would fly into my eye. Or nose. Or just buzz next to my ear. I'd snap and flail my arms wildly for a few seconds. The gnats would back up, then return as soon as I stopped. I'd sigh and continue walking. Otherwise, the woods were silent. It was the heat of mid-afternoon, and even in the shade of the forest, nothing moved that didn't have to.

Did I have to? Probably not, but I'd felt useless just sitting, like I was doing nothing. I didn't have the time to be doing nothing. It's the same problem every weekend. I'd love to just lie there and zone out, but it feels like a waste of precious free time. I made a mental reminder to investigate ways to make a buttload of money honestly and with no effort. Would getting Pollock to will her money to me, then having her killed qualify? Ehhhh, no, probably not. My mind wandered in this vein for some time.

I reached the camper. The one where CAP and I met Cass six years ago. Feels longer. There wasn't much left. A bit of the exterior, the axles. The rest had been stripped and taken somewhere. It made me vaguely sad. It held a connection to my memory, and I probably attach too much importance to stuff like that. My father's packrat tendencies manifesting. Keep moving.

The trail wound through the woods, following the natural rise and fall of the ridge. I reached a point where an east slope had been cleared several years back, but there was no dense stand of small trees and shrubs. The ground had been torn up and tossed into a chaotic jumble of piles and furrows. In places, the dirt had been shoved into piles, then someone had plowed right through it again. Some sort of game? It continued down the slope, into the valley, and up the opposite slope. I could see the remains of a large building on a flat spot halfway down the slope on my side and headed that way.

It turned out to be Guyamo's old fortress, now the community rec center. Or what was left of it. The wooden fort walls had been torn down, used to rebuild the community. His "castle" had seen better days. Poking my head inside, I called out once, but heard nothing in response. Slow drip of water somewhere further in. The walls were standing, but whatever turned over the earth outside had done the same to floor inside. The furnishings were still there. Battered and upended, but still there.

Cass' village extended down south beyond the rec center, on both sides of the valley. Some of the buildings were standing and some weren't, but even the ones standing were worse for wear. Holes in the walls. Roads torn up, trees toppled. If something was in the path of one of those furrows, it had been pushed along and through anything in its way. At least, that was how I thought that riding mower ended up through the back door of one of the houses on the opposite side. But nothing seemed to be moving, which made me uneasy. I didn't even see a bird circling overhead. Even a vulture might have been encouraging.

I glanced at the ground as I passed one of the furrows and saw fragments of a crystal, gleaming in a familiar dull purple color. The piece was small, the size of die, but it was the same material that retains traces of all the strong emotion around here, and can be used to harness that energy. I saw more pieces in the overturned earth here and there, but only small ones. Anything much bigger than what I held was gone. And they did come larger. Guyamo had glued a few pieces together to make one the size of a deflated football, but the pieces were all bigger than a chicken egg.

So someone knows about this stuff, and they came looking for it. How unsurprising. That feeling of being out of my depth, unprepared, returned. Makes-Brakes-Fail Lass had mentioned seeing some odd things, but nothing on this scale. Of course, this could have happened after she left in the spring, or it simply wasn't visible. Site 9 guards its secrets when it wants to. And she's smart enough not to go wandering around here anywhere she didn't absolutely have to. Unlike a certain someone, standing alone in the ruins of a once-prosperous community.

And right on cue, I noticed some movement at the edge of the trees on the far slope. Only one person that I could see, but moving steadily. I had a pair of binoculars, so I brought them out and took a closer look. The person's arms and face were covered with dark, stiff hair, no curl to it, bit of a metallic sheen. They had a low helmet and a bulky shirt and some plates over the legs that had a glaze to them. He or she walked oddly, like they were on their toes, but not the light step Cass employed. The upper body seemed much bigger than the lower, but it maintained its balance without too much difficulty over uneven ground.

Whoever they were didn't seem to notice me, so I made my way down the slope, using the houses and dirt piles for cover, then doing the same as I ascended the opposite slope to come up maybe 50 yards behind them.