Eric T. Knight's Blog, page 34

How I met your (Swiss) mother (in Australia) – 2

I didn���t stay long in Cairns that first time around, but quickly caught a ride north to Cooktown with a native lunatic who tried to kill me in the Daintree Rainforest. (detailed in an earlier post). There were no jobs to be found in Cooktown so on my 28th birthday I walked out to the road, stuck out my thumb, and headed back south.

I ended up getting a ride from two artists heading back to their hometown. One of them insisted I stay with him and his family for a few days, promising me he could get me a ride into Cairns when I was ready to go. Which he did. I hadn���t counted on that ride being in a beer truck. Nor had I counted on having a beer with the driver at each pub we delivered to on the way, but we made it safely enough.

It was in Cairns the second time around that the chain of events which would lead to my meeting with Claudia began to unfold. I walked into my room at the backpackers resort and these guys were walking out. One of them said, ���We���re just going for a beer, mate. Care to join us?���

Well, as it so happened, I did care to join them and that���s how I got to know Nick, a pivotal character in this little tale. Nick the Australian, not too tall, stubbly brown hair, round face, round belly, questionable personal hygiene habits and a big smile. Just one of the finest human beings to walk the planet and an absolute joy to pass the time with.

We spent the next couple of days drinking beer together with only brief pauses for food and sleep and somewhere along the line it was decided that we should do some traveling on together. Nick wasn���t working, just living on the dole (welfare), so he was up for pretty much anything. These weren���t concrete plans, mind you, just the kind that drunk people make that sound so sensible at the time, but never actually happen later.

Which was why a couple days later I wandered on down south to a place called Magnetic Island, got a job at a backpackers there, and forgot all about it. It was a good job. Four hours of work a day and in exchange I got a free bed in the employees��� quarters and breakfast and dinner. (I took care of lunch by making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the breakfast buffet and stashing it in my pocket for later.)

Except that a couple weeks later I got a call from old Nick. It seemed he had found us a ride to Alice Springs with another Australian, Ivan, and a lass from Brazil named Jackie. Unlike Nick, Ivan actually wasn���t a lazy bludger and he���d gotten a job there. He had a little truck and a trailer and he���d give us a ride in exchange for helping pay the gas. Well, the Outback was where the cattle stations were and I needed a job that paid actual money, not just room and partial board. How many pbj���s could I eat anyway?

I said goodbye to the lovely British lasses I���d met on the island, caught a ferry back to the mainland and set off for the legendary Outback.

I���m going to take a short detour here and give you all a little geography lesson so you have a better idea where and how far I was going. Australia is roughly the same size as the continental U.S. Back in ���93 there were about 20 million people living in Australia, the great bulk of them living in a few major cities along the southeastern and southern coasts. The great mass of the center of the country and virtually all of the western and northern coasts are empty.

Alice Springs (around 5,000 people at that time) lies almost in the geographic center of the continent, hence the moniker ���The heart of Australia.��� Cairns is in the northeast, Magnetic Island a couple hours south of that. We didn���t have to worry about getting lost. There was one highway running west until about the middle of the country, where it intersected with another highway that bisected the country north to south.

It took us something like ten days. After the first day or two I don���t think there was a single turn in the road (other than the aforementioned intersection) the whole way. The highway just stretched endlessly to the horizon. I���m not exaggerating when I say that Australia is unbelievably flat, arid and empty. We���d pass through a tiny hamlet every day or two and the rest of the time there was just nothing as far as the eye could see. ���Red dirt and gum trees��� is how I have always described it (gum trees are what we call eucalyptus). There was almost never a side road. (When we camped, we just pulled off onto the wide shoulder of the road and threw out our sleeping bags.) There were no rivers or even dry washes. No mountains on the horizon. Strangely, kangaroos were quite plentiful, so much so that we were warned not to drive at night lest we plow into one and do ourselves major damage.

Another interesting tidbit: The highway wasn���t quite wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. The rule of the road was that the smaller vehicle was supposed to yield to the larger. Since most of the traffic we saw consisted of massive semis pulling three trailers it wasn���t difficult usually to decide who had to yield. There were no speed limits out there and the semis would flat haul ass. The trucks were also the only traffic that ran at night. All of them had bull bars���big, protective barriers of welded steel bars���attached to the front and they never even slowed down for the kangaroos who were unfortunate enough to wander out in front of them.

It was so empty out there that near the end of the trip, only a day or so from Alice Springs, when we finally saw a sign advertising a roadside attraction (The Devil���s Marbles) that I immediately began clamoring for Ivan to pull over and let me see these wonders of nature. As the kilometers clicked by and more signs appeared I began to get quite excited, imagining something quite spectacular.

Then we got to them and to say I was disappointed was an understatement. Black boulders, not especially round and not especially large either. I���m from Arizona and we have bigger rocks than that in our backyard.

I���ve given you all this background on our journey across the Outback so that you will properly understand that by the time we drove into the Alice (as the locals call it), tired, dusty, and thirsty, it looked like the greatest city on the face of the earth. We were ready to cut loose and have a little fun.

So don���t judge me too harshly when I relate our behavior that first night in the Alice. Certainly Claudia didn���t, though I���ve never understood why. She���s usually so sensible.

(Author’s note: All of the above “facts” about Australia have had over twenty years to rust in my somewhat-disreputable memory and I didn’t feel like spending the 20 seconds required to research them on Google so don’t use any of them as answers on your next trivia night.)

How I met your (Swiss) mother (in Australia)

It occurred to me recently that my children don’t really know the whole story of how I met their Swiss mother. So, inspired by the TV show they like so much and by our rapidly-approaching 20th anniversary, I thought I would write a short series detailing the rather bizarre and heartwarming series of occurrences surrounding this event.

First off, children, I want to assure you it will not take ten years to tell you this story. Nor will it end with her untimely demise.

I graduated from the University of Arizona (for the second time) in December��of 1992 with a brand new temporary teaching certificate and landed a job almost immediately teaching high school English. That it was in Eloy, Arizona, didn’t concern me overmuch, even if a number of my friends gave me startled looks when I told them where I’d be living. It was a real job making real money and I was gung ho to put my new skills to the test (so to speak).

Fast forward six months. I received my summer pay in a lump sum. I don’t remember how much it was–not a lot I imagine–but it seemed like a lot to someone who up to that point had mostly made minimum wage while working his way through college. For some reason Eloy seemed a lot less glamorous to me by then–out of sheer loneliness I’d gone so far as to put up a sign in the local post office advertising for someone to ride bikes or drink margaritas or do��anything with, to no avail–and I looked at that check and had an idea.

Australia.

I’d picked up the traveling bug while touring Europe for two months after my first graduation from college in ’89, I had no girlfriend, no real debt other than a small student loan payment and nothing keeping me in one place. It had also become painfully clear to me that American women weren’t really all that interested in me and I might die bitter and alone if I didn’t get out of Eloy while the getting was good. I might go to Australia and find myself a bride.

Additionally, there was some family precedent. One of the Knight men met his wife while recuperating in Australia during the Pacific War and his son met his wife there years later while traveling around. I also had a step sister living in New Zealand, married to a man she met while traveling around. Lots of promising omens.

So there I was at the end of July boarding a jet to Oz. I had it all worked out. I would scrape by on the barest minimum of cash while I looked for a job on a cattle station (what those zany Ozzies call cattle ranches) somewhere in the Outback. With a little luck I’d be able to stretch my meager funds to cover six months or so in Australia. My return flights would take me via New Zealand–where I hoped to eke out a few more months–and Fiji, which I knew nothing about but sounded exotic.

I was nervous as hell–scratch that, I was downright scared–going down there without knowing a soul, but I tried not to think about it too much. While waiting for my flight in LA I was approached by a sweet little old lady and she asked me if I would take one of her suitcases since she had too many and I naively agreed. It wasn’t until I was going through security that it occurred to me that taking a stranger’s luggage sounds like the opening scene in a movie where the hero either ends up on a hijacked plane or surrounded by armed federal agents while he tries to explain the ten kilos of cocaine.

But it turned out okay as she was actually just a sweet little old lady and not a ruthless drug smuggler-slash-terrorist. I had a layover in Auckland, New Zealand, which was her destination, and her family was kind enough to show me some sights and buy me a meal. I did experience a few moments of pure terror when we drove away from the airport and they took a left turn straight into oncoming traffic and certain death…only to realize that people drive on the wrong side of the street down there and we would actually live. They didn’t even seem too alarmed by my screams.

Her son even told me an amusing story about a mate of his who flew to LA to spend a nice holiday in the States. The poor man rented a car, left the airport and immediately got sucked into the hell of LA freeway traffic for a few white knuckle hours, before finally making his way back to the airport. Whereupon he turned in his rental car, bought a plane ticket and went straight home. At least I was already one up on that guy.

My flight left late and I landed in Cairns, Australia at about eleven o’clock at night. Cairns isn’t a very big place and the airport is (or at least was, God knows where it is now, twenty-some years later) way out beyond the fringes. I didn’t think too much of cabbing into town only to find all the��backpackers (what they call hostels Down Under) closed for the night and perhaps being forced to sleep on a park bench so I found a quiet corner of the airport, stretched out on the floor and tried to get some sleep. The security guard who rousted me an hour later was actually pretty nice about it too. He just told me to get up and sit in a chair like a normal person whenever a new flight came in, as his bosses weren’t too keen on vagrants littering up the place.

Bright and early the next morning I shouldered my pack and headed into town. I was sleepy and a little ripe, but ready for the adventure to finally begin.

A Ranch in the Arizona Desert

I grew up on a ranch in the Arizona desert, west and somewhat north of Phoenix by a couple of hours (at least it was a couple hours when I was a kid; Phoenix is considerably closer now).

Date Creek Ranch could best be described as rustic. That is, if rustic is defined as: rusty, worn out, cracked and somewhat held together with baling wire and earnest hopes. Otherwise, it wasn’t.

I’m not kidding here. Everything on the place was ancient and only worked when it felt like it. Every vehicle had its tricks that a person had to know to get from Point A to Point B. The old Ford tractor? No brakes and the battery didn’t work. You wanted to stop? Drop the bucket. You wanted to stop on a hill? Good luck. Accidentally pop the clutch and kill the engine five minutes after Dad dropped you off miles from the house? Walk.

We had a truck that was so old, and had been repaired so many times, that I think the only original part remaining was the cab. Even the bed had been replaced. One time while I was driving it the battery bounced out and fell on the road.

The buildings were in just as bad a shape. The shop and the barn had both apparently been built on a weekend by drunk cowboys. The house? The whole building was completely termite-riddled. Piles of sawdust appeared as if by magic on the kitchen floor every day. Once I was trying to nail molding along the edge of a piece of paneling in the living room wall but it just wouldn’t hold. When I peeked under the paneling I saw why: the studs underneath were almost completely gone, more like 1x1s than 2x4s. To this day I have no idea why the roof didn’t just collapse on all of us. Naturally the roof leaked.

The horses, at least the ones we kids were stuck with, were the same way. Beauty was a good example. The name fit because she was black, but she sure was no beauty. She reportedly had chowed down on loco weed one time in the past so the local lore was you could still ride her, but if you got her too hot, she’d go mad and who knows what she’d do then. (Probably not true, I know. But I sure enough believed it.) Riding her was like riding a dead log. She didn’t respond to anything.

But at least she was nicer than Lady, who was anything but. Lady was so old she’d turned pure white, except for the small brown spots speckling her. I guess even horses get liver spots. Lady was cranky and mean. The good thing about her was she’d never bolt on you. Nothing scared her. A lot of horses you get off and let go of the reins, they might get a mind to leave. Not Lady. She was tired and she wasn’t going anywhere she didn’t have to.

She didn’t have any patience though. If you were little, like I was when I was starting out, getting on a horse was a struggle. I had to put my knee in the stirrup, grab the saddle strings , and pull myself laboriously upwards. Lady didn’t like that for some reason. If I spent more than a couple seconds at it, she’d twist her head back around and bite me. No kidding. Rotten horse.

More than once I’d be standing by her, maybe adjusting something on the saddle, not paying any attention, and she’d just lift her front foot and put it right on mine. Then she’d lean on it, give a sigh and just kind of stand there, enjoying herself. Being little, as I mentioned before, there wasn’t much I could do but flail at her shoulder ineffectually and scream until she got tired of the game and let me go.

On long rides in the heat it was easy to sort of doze off in the saddle and kind of lose track of my surroundings. Not on Lady, though. She’d wait until we were walking by a cactus or we were near a barbed wire fence and out of nowhere she’d just kind of sidestep and run me right into it. I’m telling you, this was pure malice on her part. My brother and sister will attest to it too.

One time a friend came out to visit. I must have been about seven. He got ��on Lady and the darned horse plain old refused to move for him. Being somewhat of a complete idiot back then (a condition I still haven’t fully gotten over) I ran up behind her and whacked her on the butt with a stick.

She returned the favor, giving me both hooves in the stomach. I woke up on the couch some time later. And I never did that again.

Then there was Misty, Lady’s offspring. Misty got ruined when she was young by a cowboy working for us who used a spade bit on her. A spade bit is a nasty piece of work that cuts a horse’s mouth if you yank on it much. The end result was she had what’s known as a hard mouth, almost impossible to turn. If you really wanted her to turn, you had to reach way down and grab the reins near the bit and pull hard. Sometimes even that didn’t work. Sometimes she’d just turn her head to the side but still keep running straight ahead.

Misty liked to run and she could run fast. The problem was that stopping was just as hard as turning: pretty much impossible for a little kid. One time we came down the hill, running hard for the corral. Like all our horses, she loved the corral. The corral meant the saddle was coming off and she could get the annoying gnat off her back. I realized my mistake about fifty yards from the corral and I started hauling on the reins with both hands, leaning back, pulling with everything I had.

Didn’t work. The corral got closer and closer. It was looking bad.

Fortunately, she did stop. The full, four-footed skid, right before the gate.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready and I wasn’t hanging onto anything. I just kind of rose up in the air, bounced some very tender parts off the saddle horn a couple times, then folded up and fell in the dirt. Where I lay for a while.

Oh, the good old days…

Watching the End of the World – the hostage

Caleb walked into the common room. Santiago was sitting at the table with Jordynn and Tamara. The women flanked him, both sitting quite close to him. Santiago was drinking a glass of Scotch and cursing under his breath. He looked up as Caleb entered.

���What about you?��� he demanded. ���Are you going to cry and moan for his life too?���

Caleb took a seat and reached for the bottle of tequila that was sitting on the table. ���Don���t talk to me like that,��� he growled.

���So you think we should let him go?���

Caleb threw back a shot. ���I didn���t say that.���

���What side are you on then?���

Caleb snorted. ���Is that what this is for you? Sides?���

���Are you stupid? It���s about living or dying.���

Caleb gave him a level stare. ���That���s why people don���t like you, Santiago. You say shit like that.���

���You mean I speak the truth.���

���Maybe. You could be less of a dick about it.���

���We let him go and it could be you he kills. Maybe Tamara. Have you thought about that?���

Caleb looked at Tamara, noting how close she was sitting to Santiago. ���I���m not letting him go so he can shoot me.��� Tamara frowned.

���You���ll back me tomorrow then.���

Caleb picked up the bottle, started to pour, then changed his mind and put it back down. ���Leave off, Santiago. I���m tired and I���m going to bed. We���ll deal with this in the morning.��� He stood up and looked at Tamara. ���You coming?���

Tamara gave him a pouty look. ���I���m not tired. I���m going to stay up with Santiago for a while.���

Caleb shrugged. ���Makes no difference to me.��� He left the room without looking back.

���Santiago, honey,��� Jordynn said. ���Maybe we should go to bed soon. You have watch in a few hours.���

���Thanks for the reminder, Mom.��� Santiago poured some more Scotch. Tamara held out her glass and he gave her some.

���Don���t let us stop you,��� Tamara said. ���You should get your beauty rest.��� Jordynn gave her a dark look. When Santiago didn���t look up Jordynn stood and hurried from the room.

Tamara took a drink of her Scotch, grimaced, then smoothed the grimace away when Santiago looked at her. ���Finally. I thought they���d never leave.��� She put her hand on Santiago���s chest. ���I���ve been thinking about you all day.���

He pushed her hand away. ���Not right now, Tamara. I���ve got a lot on my mind.���

A brief darkness passed over her face. ���Don���t be that way, baby. There���s nothing you can do about it tonight.���

He drained his glass and stood up. ���The hell I can���t.��� He picked up his rifle.

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Maha’s story

Jenna was sitting on the roof, the darkness outside her mirroring the darkness inside her, when she heard someone coming up the ladder. ���Who���s there?��� she called.

���Maha.���

Jenna felt something she couldn���t name wash over her. She stood up, then found herself unable to move. Maha came closer. Jenna was lost. No matter which way she turned, nothing looked familiar. She realized she was biting her lip. Maha stood there looking at her in the dark, less than an arm���s length away.

���You���re not okay,��� he said.

���I am now,��� she replied. Her control broke then and she closed the space between them, wrapping him in a fierce hug.

Maha did not reply. At first he didn���t respond. Then, slowly, his arms rose and he hugged her back. All at once Jenna let go of something she���d been clinging fiercely to and the sobs poured from her. She was tired of being strong. All her life she���d been strong, first to show no weakness before her father, then to support her mother after he finally left them. It was too much. She was too small, too frightened.

Maha stroked her hair and let her cry. He didn���t tell her it would be okay. He didn���t tell her to stop crying. He just let her cry and she loved him for that. His embrace was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was open and welcoming in a way she���d never imagined. He held nothing back of himself, shared himself, and let her do the same. He was no taller than she and slightly built, but at that moment she felt safer in his arms than she���d ever felt before.

At length she let him go and stepped back, wiping at her eyes. ���Thank you.��� He touched her arm. His fingers felt very hot on her skin. ���I was���I thought Santiago was going to shoot that man.��� Her throat closed on her words. She took his hands and gripped them tightly. What she said next was very difficult for her. ���And I was going to let him. He was going to shoot that man and I wasn���t going to try and stop him. I wanted���I wanted him to.��� Shame and guilt burned in her. ���I wanted him to. e was My god, what am I turning into?��� She stared at his face, wishing she could see what was there. What did he think of her now? She needed to know. It was more important than anything right then.

���This changes nothing. You are still Jenna, the same woman you were.���

She laughed bitterly. ���I know you are trying to comfort me.��� Was he, really? ���But that doesn���t really help.���

���You are a strong, caring woman. This you were yesterday, you are now, and you will be tomorrow. That has not changed because you gave into anger and fear briefly.���

That rocked her. ���I wish I could believe you.���

���You do. It is only buried, a truth you have forgotten.���

���Who are you? You���re like no one I���ve ever met.��� She cursed the darkness. She wanted to see what went on behind his eyes. The eyes never lied. If she had enough light she could look deep enough, see if the truth of him was what she hoped or whether it was only another lie.

���There is no difference between us,��� he said, ���except that I have stared into the darkness in my own heart before this. I have faced what you did tonight, and like you I did not like what I saw there.���

She heard the pain in his voice. ���What happened?���

He turned half away. She could feel the intensity of what was within him. ���Can we sit down?��� he asked. She released him and he moved to the chairs and sat. She sat down too.

���I was seventeen,��� he said. From his silhouette she could tell that he had turned his face to the sky. ���We were living in Bangkok. My mother was back on the Game.��� Jenna waited, hardly breathing.

���It was difficult, living there after spending so much of my life in Santa Barbara. They are two different worlds. Santa Barbara is clean and orderly and calm. Bangkok is wild and loud and dirty. I cannot describe it to you. It is like a jungle, so much life roaring at you from every direction, all of it grasping harshly for existence, screaming to be heard over everything around it. I did not handle it well. I���lost myself. I was like a man who falls into a flooding river. In my fear I fought the current instead of riding with it. I thought my scream could be heard above the others.���

He stopped talking and took her hand. He squeezed it very tightly. Jenna felt what this cost him and she stayed silent.

���When I realized no one could hear me I began to go the other direction. My life meant nothing. What was the purpose of caring for it? It was not long before I fell into drugs. I cycled through everything I could get my hands on but one clearly stood out for me. Yaa baa, what you call meth. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel alive.��� He stopped, as if he wasn���t sure where to go next. ���This will make no sense to you. Yaa baa is a powerful spirit, dangerous and deadly. Death powers it, envelops it. And yet, it is powerfully vital as well. Because it is death, it made me feel alive. As if it was only by balancing on that line between life and death that I could feel alive.

���After a while I started selling it. Yaa baa is very popular in my country. It is perhaps the ultimate symbol of how your culture has defeated mine. Hard work and success are the only real markers of life for most of us now. The other pieces of our culture crack and fall away and this is all that remains. With the help of yaa baa a worker can work eighteen, twenty hours in a day. It is the ultimate drug of capitalism: cheap and the key to working beyond the normal capacity of the body.

���I loved selling it almost as much as doing it. The risk of dealing is its own high. I began to spend my time with a dangerous crowd. We���d stay up for a couple days in a row, drinking, running meth. I had a motorcycle ��� a motorcycle is the only way to beat the choking traffic of Bangkok ��� and a cell phone. I���d get the call and off I���d go. The motorcycle was part of the high. Death is always just one mistake away.

���There was this guy, Anga, only a little older than me, and also half caste. He was always strutting around, acting like he was something, trying to be what you would call a player. He fancied himself a dealer, wanted to come up fast. One day he got an order for a large quantity, several times anything he had sold up to then. He went to our distributor and convinced him to front him the dope. And it worked. The man gave it to him. Anga was so excited. He was going to make the big score and make them notice him, treat him with the respect he deserved. This was his big chance.���

Maha lapsed into silence for a minute, remembering. Jenna said nothing, afraid to break the spell.

���It was a set up. They jumped Anga and robbed him. They beat him pretty bad and took all of his stuff. I was there when he showed up at the distributor���s place, crying, completely broken and lost. The distributor told us to take him out and kill him, dump his body in the canal.���

Maha turned to her. Jenna felt as if her heart would stop.

���We dragged him out to the canal. He was crying, begging. I stood there and watched while one of the others shot him. I did nothing. I said nothing.

���That���s why I knew what to do tonight. I never want to feel that way again.���

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 6

When no alarm was raised, he sat up and looked around. The camp was still quiet but it occurred to him that he could see the sleeping men more clearly than before.

Morning was coming.

Gathering up the chain, he slung it over his shoulder and headed for the trees, afraid with each step that the chain would rattle and wake his captors. The thick trees and undergrowth which had so terrified him since he���d arrived in this horrible place now looked like the promised land and when he passed into their welcome darkness he had to stifle a sob of relief.

At first he just ran heedlessly, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance between himself and his captors as possible. But the chain made running awkward and it caught on things. Eventually it caught on a fallen tree as he tried to jump over it and he fell hard. He struggled to his feet and stood there, breathing hard. The realization came that he had no idea where he was or which way it was back to the airfield. He tried to orient himself by the rising sun, but although he could see fairly clearly now the growth was so thick he couldn���t tell which way was east.

Finally he had no choice but to just keep going. Maybe he would come to a road he could follow. Anywhere had to be better than back in the hands of the General and his followers.

It occurred to him briefly that the General and his men hadn���t seemed all that concerned with the virus ravaging the world. But then, why would they? If civilization collapsed, would that really change their lives all that much? Might they not even be better off in some ways?

He heard a noise and froze, looking over his shoulder. Was someone following him?

There was the sound of a branch breaking.

Abandoning caution, he started to run. But he was tired from his escape efforts and from the terror of the entire night and the chain further weighed him down and he didn���t make it far before he had to slow, a stitch burning in his side. He made it a few more steps and then sagged down on a fallen tree. Panting, he looked back the way he���d come.

One of the General���s men was standing there, watching him, a smile on his face. He was skinny, shorter than Nate and wearing old fatigues torn off at the knee. He had a long, slender stick over his shoulder.

Nate froze. Slowly, he stood. The man didn���t move. He took a step back, then another.

The man waved him on, seemingly encouraging him to flee. ���Game,��� he said. ���Yes?���

Nate turned and started running. He ran as hard as he could, changing directions suddenly, ducking around trees and under low-hanging limbs. When he could run no more he slowed and looked over his shoulder.

The man was still there. He didn���t look tired at all. He still had the same half smile.

Nate got an idea. He let a couple feet of the chain slide through his hand. He didn���t see or hear anyone else and this guy was smaller than him. He didn���t have a weapon, just the stick. If he could just hit him hard just once, he could probably knock him down, maybe knock him out. He tried not to think beyond that. He had no idea what he was capable of.

���Go,��� the man said, motioning him on. ���Run. Game.���

Nate lunged at him and swung the chain.

The man sidestepped him deftly, smacking him on the back of the wrist hard enough that he dropped the chain, then giving him another smack on the side of the head, hard enough to really sting.

All of a sudden Nate just snapped. He threw himself blindly at the man, punching, kicking, wanting only to hurt him.

The man simply laughed and slapped him aside. Then he tripped him with the stick and Nate went down hard.

Nate rolled over onto his back. He lay there staring up at the man, breathing hard. After a minute the man prodded him with the stick, harder when he didn���t move. Slowly, Nate stood up. The man prodded him again and pointed through the trees back the way they���d come. For some reason Nate noticed that the man wasn���t wearing any shoes. It didn���t look like he���d ever worn shoes. Did it make any difference to him that the world had ended? Sure, the bullets would run out. The vehicles would quit running. But for this man and the rest of them that wouldn���t be much more than an inconvenience. He might not even know about the virus.

Nate gave up, the despair and futility of his situation weighting him down more surely than any chain. He was lost anyway. He would never be able to find the airfield again. He would stumble around out here until he starved or a lion ate him.

When the man pointed back the way they���d come, Nate lowered his head and began the weary walk back to the General���s camp.

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 5

Nate was dragged to a wooden post near the center of the camp. A heavy, rusted chain was looped around it. They kicked his legs out from under him and he was held down while the other end of the chain was padlocked to his ankle. They withdrew and Nate rolled over to see Abasi standing over him.

���How do you like it, being in chains? This is what your people did to so many of mine for so long. How does it feel? Would you make a good slave?���

Nate lay there quivering, not knowing what to say. The whites of Abasi���s eyes were very red. In the flickering firelight he might have been the devil himself.

���No,��� Abasi said, answering his own question. ���I do not think so. You are too soft. So I think I will kill you myself. But not with this,��� he said, putting his pistol away. He drew his machete. ���A dog should be killed with a blade.��� He laid the edge of the blade along the side of Nate���s neck. Nate lay there frozen, afraid to move. Then he moved the blade, tapping Nate on the shoulders and legs. ���I will take off pieces, until there are no more to take. What do you think of that?���

���Please,��� Nate moaned. ���I���ll do anything.���

���Yes, you will. Just like the woman.���

From the General���s tent came a woman���s scream followed by the sound of sobbing. What was Kelly suffering at their hands? They hadn���t even gotten close to rescuing her. Maybe they���d even made it worse for her.

Abasi grunted and kicked Nate in the ribs, then walked away. After he left the other men lost interest and one by one drifted away, a few going into other tents around the perimeter of the clearing, the rest returning to woven sleeping mats on the ground. The fire began to die down once again.

Finally Nate sat up, moving as slowly as he could so the chain wouldn���t make any noise. He ached in a dozen places, but nothing was broken. Would the others come to rescue him? he wondered. He had heard the explosion. That meant the truck was gone. There���d been gunfire too. Were they all dead? That didn���t seem likely. The General would not have spoken of ransoming him if that were true.

Even if they did decide to try and rescue him it wouldn���t be until tomorrow night at the earliest. Who knew what would happen to him between now and then? They might torture him for fun. Abasi might defy his general and kill him outright.

He had to try and escape and he needed to do it now.

He examined the post. It was made from a gnarled section of tree trunk sticking up about nine feet high. Maybe it had been there long enough to rot off. But when he shook it, it barely moved. If he had a shovel he might be able to dig it out but it would take too long and make too much noise.

He tried getting the chain off his ankle, taking his shoe and sock off. But that was no use either; it was on too tight. Already his foot hurt and he worried that his circulation was being cut off. The padlock was old and rusty but solid.

But the other end of the chain was looped about the post rather loosely. Maybe he could lift it up and take it off the top of the post. He looked around. In the faint glow from the fire he could see that everyone looked asleep.

He lifted the loop of chain. It took some work to maneuver it past the first knot in the trunk, where a limb had been hacked off, but after a while he was able to manage it. He paused, wiped the sweat from his face and looked around. Everyone still seemed to be asleep.

He was starting to lift the chain again when one of the men nearby grunted in his sleep and turned over. Nate froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. There was a sound as if the man slapped at something crawling on him. A minute later his breathing became regular once again.

Nate worked the loop past the next hacked-off limb and the next. It was now as high as he could reach and there was still a couple feet to go. He put his foot on the lowest knot and managed to raise himself up the trunk. But when he let go with one hand to raise the chain higher, he lost his hold and fell, losing some skin in the process. Breathing hard, he got up and tried again. The next time he wrapped one arm tightly around the trunk and managed to hold on while he worked at the chain with his free hand. By the time he managed to work the chain up a few more inches he was shaking with fatigue and had wrap both arms around the trunk and rest for a time.

It seemed to take forever and he was bleeding in several places but finally Nate lifted the chain up and off the top of the trunk. When he jumped down he hit the ground awkwardly and twisted his knee and fell. Then he lay there on the ground in dread, waiting for the inevitable cry of alarm and the rush of footsteps.

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 4

Nate was dragged back to the camp, a jostling, yelling mob of men pressing close around him. Fists struck him and gun barrels were jammed into his ribs. He tripped, started to fall, and was jerked roughly to his feet, pains shooting through his shoulders. The rank odor of unwashed bodies filled his nostrils.

Someone threw wood on the fire and the flames leapt up. Nate���s vision began to return. He was surrounded by perhaps thirty men, yelling and waving their weapons. Faces pressed in close around him, lips pulled back from teeth, individual curses lost in the frenzy.

From across the camp a man���s voice boomed out, an unmistakable note of command in his tone. The men gathered around Nate went quiet, turning toward the speaker. Hands grabbed Nate and he was shoved toward a man who had just emerged from the largest tent.

He was a large, bearded man with a network of scars across the bridge of his nose. One of his front teeth was missing. Unlike most of the men, who wore a motley collection of tattered camouflage pants and torn T-shirts in various stages of decay, he wore an actual uniform that was fairly new and reasonably clean. There was some sort of insignia Nate didn���t recognize on his collar. A machete hung from his belt and there was a holstered pistol on his hip. Nate was forced to his knees in front of the man.

���You made a very bad mistake,��� the man said in thickly-accented English. ���Maybe the last one.���

Nate tried to find words, to beg or explain, but there was nothing, only the fear. He tried to rise and was shoved back down.

The man loomed over him. ���What did you think, attacking our camp like this? It will go very bad for you.��� As if on cue there was a woman���s scream from the tent behind him.

���We weren���t attacking your camp,��� Nate squeaked. It was all he could do to not panic. His heart was pounding in his ears. ���We were just trying to rescue our friend.���

���I think it is too late for that, don���t you?��� The man gestured and another man pushed his way through the throng and handed him an AK-47. Nate���s AK-47. ���This makes a liar of you.���

���No,��� Nate moaned. ���I���ve never shot at anyone in my life. You have to believe me. We just wanted our friend back.���

���I think I am done listening to you,��� the man said, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Nate���s face. The hole in the end of the barrel grew to fill Nate���s vision. He tried to back away but hands grabbed him and held him in place. He tried to fight, thrashing wildly, but there were too many of them. In the end he hung limply in their grasp as the man pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

There was a loud click as he cocked it.

Nate closed his eyes and braced himself.

���Colonel Abasi!���

The pressure on his forehead eased. Nate opened his eyes. From the tent came an older man, probably close to sixty, with gray in his neatly-trimmed hair and mustache. He had a large gut and thick, pudgy hands. He was wearing an elaborate dress uniform, with shoulder boards, gold braid and rows of medals on his chest. A riding crop was gripped under one arm.

Over his shoulder, Abasi said, ���General Armagin, sir.��� His pistol was still pointed at Nate���s face.

���I think we will keep him alive awhile longer yet,��� the General said. His voice was rich and cultured, his accent unmistakably British.

���He stole from us,��� Abasi protested, lowering the pistol. ���Our drugs. Our guns. Even the clothes he is wearing.���

���We gave the drugs back,��� Nate protested.

���Shut up!��� Abasi hissed. One of the men standing over Nate bent and slugged him in the stomach. With a grunt of pain he sagged to the side.

���He may still be useful,��� the General said. To Nate he said, ���What will they do to save your life, your friends? Lay down the weapons they have stolen? Leave my airfield peacefully?���

Nate hesitated. Some might, but there were others, like Santiago, who surely wouldn���t.

���He is no use to us,��� Abasi said, raising the pistol once again. There was an eager look in his eyes. This was a man who enjoyed killing.

���Still, it is worth a try. Then, if he is no use, he may still provide entertainment. We could turn him loose and let the men hunt him down.���

Abasi spat. ���He is weak. He will die too fast.���

���Chain him to the post. I have other matters to attend to now.��� The General turned and strode back into his tent.

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 3

The shockwave knocked Jenna down like the blow from a giant fist. She lay on the ground for a moment, temporarily stunned. Blinking against the afterimage of the flash and debris that had blown into her eyes, she rolled onto her side. The burning wreckage of the truck cast the road in a lurid, wavery light.

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. It was Santiago. He was yelling something but she couldn���t understand him over the ringing in her ears. He pointed and she saw Caleb getting to his feet. Beyond him was Akila, shouting something, waving them over. Behind Santiago she saw several of their attackers just getting to their feet, reaching for their weapons. Her expression must have alerted Santiago because he turned and fired several quick shots at them, causing them to hit the dirt. Santiago picked up her rifle, pushed it into her hand and began pulling her after Akila.

They plunged into the trees. Branches slapped Jenna���s face. She tripped and fell almost immediately. Santiago grabbed her arm and pulled her back up. Bullets popped through the leaves around them.

Jenna focused on Caleb���s broad back as he ran in front of her, trying not to lose him, terrified of finding herself alone out there. The light from the burning truck faded behind them and the darkness closed in. She put on a burst of speed and caught hold of Caleb���s shirt.

Somehow Akila led them through the darkness. Jenna banged her knee and tripped multiple times but her hold on Caleb���s shirt kept her upright.

After some minutes they stopped.

���What���?��� Jenna started, but Akila shushed her.

They stood there in silence, the only sound their heavy breathing.

���Okay, I think we lost them,��� Akila said at last. ���Is everyone okay? Did we lose anyone?���

���I saw Tony go down,��� Jenna said.

���Tony? Are you here?���

Silence.

���Damn. We lost Tony.���

���Nate���s gone too.���

���Should we go back and look for them?���

���We���ll never find them in this,��� Akila said. ���Not without giving away our position.���

���We���re just going to leave them?���

���You have a better idea?��� Akila snapped. ���I don���t like it either but there���s nothing we can do for them right now. We need to get back to base and regroup.���

Jenna didn���t like it, but she knew Akila was right. It was black under the trees. There was no way to find the others without shouting and that would only alert the men who were probably looking for them. Nate and Tony had probably been captured anyway. If so, there was no way they could rescue them that night. Now their attackers would be ready for them.

It took hours, making their way slowly through the thick undergrowth, and Jenna was scratched, bruised, thirsty and exhausted by the time they finally broke out onto the road.

���We should be close,��� Akila said, leading them down the road to the right. By the time they stumbled onto the airstrip the first light of the new day was showing over the trees.

Watching the End of the World

Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 2

���Back to the truck!��� Akila yelled.

Nate tried to run with the rest but he couldn���t see. He ran into someone, bounced off and dropped his rifle. He bent to pick it up and someone else ran into him and he went down hard.

Confused shouting and scattered gunshots.

Nate got up, started to run and someone punched him in the ear. He staggered, momentarily stunned, and someone tackled him.

He gave into his panic and fought wildly, punching, kicking, biting. A moment of animal exhilaration as he started to get free and then two more jumped on him.

Sharp pains as they punched him and then his arms were jerked behind his back and his wrists were bound.

��������������������� ��������������������� ��������������������� ���

Jenna ran with the rest back to the truck. Fortunately, she���d been turned away when the flash went off and she could still see pretty well. Someone bumped into her and she almost fell. Strange voices were shouting behind her. There were more gunshots and bullets ripped through the foliage around her. A low-hanging branch struck her on the face. Someone was running to her right. She thought maybe it was Tony but she couldn���t be sure.

Another gunshot rang out and he cried out, stumbled and went down.

Jenna���s lungs were burning and her legs were aching by the time the truck loomed out of the darkness. The sight of it gave her an extra burst of speed. They were so close. If they could just get to the truck, everything would be all right.

More gunshots. The sound of someone cursing.

There was an odd whumpf! from behind them ���

The truck exploded into flames, flipping over onto its side.

Watching the End of the World