CHAPTER 2 
CHAPTER 2
“Okay, everyone gather round, keep alert, listen up,” Elliot said. They clustered within a few meters, but kept enough distance and randomness to avoid being easy mass targets. They were all on the upslope side of the vehicles, in the sun.
He said, “We are lost. We will take steps to get unlost. It may take a while. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” “Roger.” “Hooah.”
Corporal Dalton asked, “What do you mean by ‘lost’, sir?”
Yeah, he had to have some kind of answer, and he didn’t know. He tensed as much as he could to avoid shivering in fear, while trying not to look stiff. But the commander had to be firm and sure, or the troops would panic.
He said, “We don’t know where we are. We don’t know where anyone else is. Shit’s acting weird. We can receive radio in the immediate area, but have no contact with anyone else. GPS is down. There’s some damage to the terrain. I’d almost guess some kind of EMP device.”
Dalton made an odd face. “Nuke? Seriously?”
“It doesn’t have to be a nuke. The Air Force has conventional EMP weapons. So could anyone else. But it could have been an atmospheric nuke. We all saw that flash.”
Caswell asked, “But what about the road, sir? And the convoy?” Her voice shivered a little.
“Yeah, I have no idea about that. For right now, it’s quiet, and we see no hostiles, so we’ll set watch, eat lunch, and think over some strategies. If you have any ideas, let me know.”
He watched while they glanced about, then took turns climbing into the vehicles and digging out MREs.
He swung up into Charlie Eight and grabbed one of his own. At least it was spaghetti.
Spencer sauntered around, had his pocket knife out faster than anyone, and sliced a couple of packages open for people. Then he walked over to the front of Eight, stood for a moment, and around to Elliott.
Alongside, in a quiet mumble, he said, “You don’t think we’re going to find anyone, do you, sir?”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t know what kind of sci fi shit happened, but we’re not in A-stan anymore.”
He had no idea where they were, and his legs were weak, his pulse hammering, and his head spinning.
“Yes, we are.” Spencer pulled off his helmet and ran fingers through his cropped hair.
“How do you figure?”
“Those mountains to the south. They haven’t changed.”
He looked. “Damn. You’re right. Shit.”
“Or actually, they have.”
“How?” he asked.
“Do you see any roads? Any farms? Any cuts for power lines? Any indication of people at all?”
He stared. He desperately wanted to find something, like that . . . no, that wasn’t anything. Spencer was right. There was nothing indicating any human presence.
“We are so fucked,” he said, feeling a wash of tears that he blinked back. The nausea didn’t show, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.
He rambled. “Parallel universe? Everyone magically transported away? Time travel? We missed the Rapture?”
“I’d say every one of those is bullshit, and explain how,” Spencer said. “Except I can’t.”
“When do we tell them?”
“Bit by bit. We don’t have a panic yet. I don’t want one.” Spencer held up a hand and stared at it. He was trembling as if he had Parkinson’s. His hands were visibly damp.
The need to stand watch and eat did keep them busy. And yes, it was a lot cooler than it had been. From the 90s or 100s, it was down to high 70s or low 80s. Quite comfortable. Wind blew from the west, very, very fresh. When it dropped he could smell the trucks.
“Police up that trash, Dalton,” he ordered. “We don’t want to leave a calling card.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid had been about to stuff all his plastic under a rock. That wasn’t a good idea tactically, and this place was so pristine he hated to spoil it.
Alexander turned and said, “Sir, I was going to get some pictures . . .”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “But I don’t see any landmarks except the mountains.”
She’d figured it out.
“Yes, that’s our next problem.”
She raised her eyebrows. Her lip twitched.
“Understood, sir,” she said with a slow nod and a cold face. She didn’t look reassured. She grabbed her weapon with one hand, nodded and slowly put the hand back on her camera.
Ten minutes later, the grapevine had it.
Dalton asked, “So where the hell are we, sir? If it’s okay to ask. If we know.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re still on Earth,” he said. He was confident of that. Mostly. The gravity, air and sun seemed right. In fact, yes, there was a quarter moon . . . and . . . it had been near full the night before. He wasn’t going to say anything yet. And what the fuck had happened to the sun? They rolled at 0923. That was an afternoon sun.
What the fuck had happened?
Had they been knocked out for days? Because if not, then, no, he wasn’t going to think about that, because . . .
“Where, then?”
Everyone had gathered around, and this time they were much closer, not wanting to stray from the safety of the vehicle.
“Sergeant Spencer and I were discussing that. Everyone knows we’re really lost, right?”
“Yeah. As in, no signs of any people at all. Like we’re suddenly in the middle of Siberia.”
He sighed. “Well, at this point, we can’t rule that out.”
“What did it?”
Dalton said, “God is testing us.”
Alexander snapped, “Oh, please fucking spare me . . . argh. Dammit.”
“No religion, no politics,” he ordered. “We have no idea. Divine power is one idea. So is some kind of space warp to a parallel world. Or we may be back in time. Or somewhere remote like Siberia.” He wasn’t going to mention the familiar skyline to anyone who hadn’t caught it. Slowly on the discovery. And anyway, he didn’t know what happened.
“Really?” Caswell said. “What is this bullshit?”
“Do you see any sign of people? Powerlines, roads, villages on the hillsides, cleared areas for agriculture, anything?”
“No, but lots of this country is vacant.”
“Not around here. Sparse, but not vacant. And not this green.”
He was amazed there wasn’t more panic. Though Trinidad was reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Devereaux and Ortiz went to join him, holding hands.
Dalton asked, “What the fuck do we do?”
“For right now, we stay right here, where we landed.” He pointed for emphasis. “We have good visibility downslope, some cover from that outcropping, and working vehicles. We bivouac here.”
“That’s it?” Dalton sounded irritated.
“What else would you do?”
“You travel downhill until you find a watercourse, and follow it downstream until you find people.”
Spencer nodded. “Per the book, that is a guaranteed way to find people. But it assumes there are people to find. Look at that hill,” he said.
Dalton argued, “And people around here might stick to the valleys.”
“Do you recognize that hill line, Corporal?”
And that was it.
“We’re still here,” Ortiz said.
“Close enough, yes. Within a few kilometers of where we were when whatever it was happened.”
“Shit.”
“So we bivouac,” he said at once. “And gather intel, and then plot a course of action. We have the ammo, food, water and fuel at hand, and that’s it. So we don’t use it until we’re sure.”
Alexander said, “Sir? Latrine break?”
“Yeah, around that rock,” he pointed east. “Take a buddy.”
“I’d rather take two. Sergeant Spencer, will you cover us?” She indicated herself and Caswell.
“Yes,” he agreed.
Elliott nodded. “Yeah, we need to stay in close proximity. We don’t know if it will happen again.”
Spencer and the two females headed around the rock, but not far. He could see their heads as they squatted. He was glad they were within sight. What would happen if or when they jumped back . . . or elsewhere?
And thank God for sci fi movies. Whatever had happened fit concepts they all knew about. Fifty years previous, he would have had a panic on his hands. As it was, they were too shocked to panic. He’d need to keep them busy.
Oglesby lit a smoke, after a half dozen attempts with trembling hands. Elliott decided to let it slide.
Except he was panicking himself. He didn’t know where they were, or what happened. There was the sound of wind soughing through long grass and shrubs, and the occasional chirp of a bird. Otherwise, it was silent. He’d never been anywhere this quiet in his life.
When Spencer and the females returned, he said, “Okay, watch in alphabetical order by last name, one hour each, starting now. Use the cupola. After dark, we’ll overlap two hours, with two people up. I don’t want anyone falling asleep or panicking. This is some serious shit, but we’re U.S. Army Soldiers and will deal with it.”
“And tomorrow?” Dalton asked.
“Tomorrow, we’ll widen our search and go from there. Also, as of right now, I want everyone to have weapon loaded, chamber empty. It only takes a second to charge a weapon, and we don’t need any accidents because of nerves.”
There was a rattle of charging handles and magazines, as everyone cycled their chambers empty and reinserted magazines.
Barker asked, “Can’t we run the vehicle?”
“That falls under the category of wasting resources, and breaching noise discipline. No.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Yeah, Barker, you were Navy before you joined the Reserves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The ‘aye aye’ gave it away.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, what do we do until dark, sir?”
“Hasty positions, and I want another patrol farther uphill, tracking back the line we took downhill.”
“To find what?”
“Whatever there is to find.”
Spencer didn’t seem too sure, but he said, “Yes, sir.”
Alexander had her camera up, with a big telephoto on. He was about to say something when she said, “S-small herd of animals, sir. Y-you want to see this.”
She lowered the camera and stepped over. He reached for it, she pulled it away, looped the sling around his neck, then handed it to him. Yes, he could understand why she’d be protective of her very expensive equipment.
He held it up, looked through the viewfinder, and aimed it where she pointed. Yes, a small herd. They were hairy, brown and tan, and had big heads and long horns on their noses.
They were shaggy rhinos. About a dozen of them.
He took a long, ragged breath and tried not to panic. It was completely impossible. He looked again. One of them galloped a couple of steps, and reached out a long horn toward its mother, who was cropping thick, green grass.
He stared at Alexander. He looked around at the others.
Caswell raised a hand to shield her eyes and squinted. Then she asked, “Are they . . . ?”
“Yes. They are rhinos,” he said. There was nothing to be gained by stalling.
“What the fuck are rhinos doing in A-stan?”
Alexander said, “Woolly rhinos. From when it was cold.”
Caswell got it, and shouted, “We’re in the fucking Stone Age?”
He felt it himself. His entire body shook, there were splotches in front of his eyes, and he couldn’t talk.
No one else said a word, but they were all obviously shocked. Lips trembled, then whole bodies. “Lost” could be frightening. Knowing they were . . . this . . . was terrifying. Then he felt himself flush and shake.
Devereaux ran for the rock, tugging at his fly. Dalton dithered a moment, then followed.
“We see rhinos,” he said. “Presumably we’re in the Stone Age. It could be a recreation, some kind of image, or I could be having a drugged-out dream in ICU.” He hoped so. Please, let it be a messed-up dream. They’d been hit by an IED and he was hospitalized, recovering. Missing limbs would be better than this.
Barker sounded surprisingly calm.
“How did we get in the fucking Stone Age? That bang we heard?” He was smoking, too. Oglesby was chain lighting another and almost brushed the coal off as his hands shook.
Spencer said, “That had to be it. I have no idea how, but that’s when everything went bugnuts.” He was crying.
Barker’s voice was much softer as he asked, “And how do we get back?”
Elliott saw they were all shaky, and he needed to keep discipline. He started talking, slowly and with measure, as he’d been taught by one of his mentors.
“Listen up. Leak if you need to, then get back over here. I’m going to keep talking.
“First, we’re going to deal with the immediate situation. We are a small unit, but we are large enough to support ourselves, and God willing, we’ll make this work.
“I don’t have an answer on getting back. First we have to find out where and when we are. Then we need to survive and thrive. Then we focus on finding our way back.
“I need fifteen minutes to make some notes. Then I’ll dictate our plan of attack.”
Hopefully he could silently scream it all out in fifteen minutes. Or maybe he’d throw up.
Martin Spencer was surprised he wasn’t more shocky. Woolly rhino, cool weather, lusher growth, no people. Time travel. There wasn’t any other explanation. Time travel was impossible, except in sci fi and movies, but it had obviously happened.
His brain suddenly remembered an old joke. You may get drafted or not. If not, no worries. But if so, there are two possibilities. You may deploy or not. If you don’t, no worries . . . his mind raced through to the ending. If you get wounded, you may survive or not. If you survive, no worries, if not . . . but there are usually two possibilities.
It was either time travel, or time travel. He was alive. He had people, tools, skills. Either they could get back or not. Always two possibilities if you looked for them.
The LT, though, was sick with shock and fear, and he couldn’t think, and he was angry, and he couldn’t think.
“Sir, can I offer some suggestions?”
“No,” Elliott replied, gripping his rifle, trembling, and staring at the horizon.
“Understood, sir.”
That was bad. The man was shaking, wasn’t making decisions, and wasn’t all there. He needed backup. If the man wasn’t in command, the troops would panic all over the landscape.
But a few moments later, Elliott turned around and gave orders.
He said, “It’s dry but going to be cool tonight. Dress as you need to for the weather, let’s hang some ponchos or tarps around the wheels like lean-tos, and we can sleep under there tonight. We don’t have much fuel, but I want a small fire in that crack in the rock. Two people on watch as I said, and keep feeding grass stalks to it if nothing else. The smoke will help with bugs.”
The ponchos went up in a few minutes, but no one crawled into the shelter.
Dalton said, “If it’s okay with you, sir, I’ll be first watch.”
“You and me, then,” he agreed.
It was pretty clear no one was going to sleep. Elliott could order it, but it wouldn’t work.
Still, he was giving orders. That was good. Spencer added, “Keep the fire small. Light, a little heat, a little smoke.”
“How about three on watch, sir?” Barker asked. “We can keep an eye out in three arcs at once.”
If there were rhinos, there might be mammoths, bears and sabertooths, and he doubted M4 carbines would stop them, but they might have to try.
Elliott said, “Yeah. There should be a good view from the ledge.”
There wasn’t much talking. Spencer didn’t even know who’d lit the fire, and that bothered him. It was dusky. They’d been here for hours, and where had the time gone?
Was time moving at a different rate, too? Or had they just completely zoned out in shock? He checked his watch. No, it had been eight hours. How?
He needed to piss again, badly. He went to the side of the outcropping and let loose. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone was still there.
The fire was the only warmth he felt. He moved in as close as he thought safe, and felt a nervous itch in his exposed back. He closed his eyes and focused on leading by example, then opened them in fear. He realized he was shaking in stress, and nauseated.
It’s like a firefight, he thought. But it’s been going on for eight hours, and there’s nothing I can do to take cover or evade, or call for support.
He heard someone make a deep, shuddering sigh that turned into sobs, and in moments, they were all whimpering and gasping. They’d be panicking until they got through every stage of dealing with trauma, he expected.
He thought about suggesting camp songs, cadences or even jokes, but . . . nothing felt right.
I have to do something, if only to keep a perception of discipline, he thought. We have to stay together.
Absolutely nothing came to mind.
Devereaux said, “If you look up, you can see the constellations. We’re in late summer, early fall, and we’re about the same latitude we left, possibly a bit farther north. So we’re not terribly far away.”
“Except in time.”
Devereaux’s camo showed up better in the starlight than his dark skin. His outline was ghostly. He said, “There’s a fifteen billion light year universe we could be lost in, and eternity. We’re not far. Whatever screwed up is likely to happen again. We just need to watch for it.”
He sounded confident. He needed it to be true, and Martin did, too.
Someone asked, “Why? We couldn’t see this one.”
“We weren’t looking.”
Caswell said, “No pollution. Look how bright and clear they all are.”
She was right. He’d never seen anything that bright in the remotest areas of A-stan, Alaska or even on the side of the Tetons. The stars were icy points, and there were billions of them. Except for the fire, it was completely, utterly black.
That brought everyone silent for about ten seconds.
Then the sobs started again.
They stopped when a wolf howled. A big wolf. Then others.
Everyone fumbled with their weapons.
Barker said, “No shooting. Those are a long way away.”
“Can I spotlight something?” Dalton asked.
He was about to say, “Yes,” when he remembered something. “We have night vision on the trucks.”
Dalton nodded, and took a tentative step toward the hatch, then stopped.
Spencer said, “I’ll go with you.” He’d rather be in the truck.
Dalton let out a breath and nodded.
Yeah, they were all terrified. It was bad enough being alone in the dark. Any distance from other human beings was unwelcome.
He scanned with the NV and looked at the terrain in monochromatic green. Grass, creepy-looking scrub, and a few herbivores. He breathed a deep sigh and felt cold.
He reported to Elliott, “Goats. Some kind of antelope. Maybe wolves way to the west. And I could swear I see a lion.”
Elliott asked, “How far can you see?”
“With moon and no pollution, a long way.” It was a little less scary in monochrome.
The LT said, “Okay, I want one on cupola and one on night vision.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to sleep, sir.”
“Yeah. Rotate through just the same.”
He was getting cold. It was quite chill, and damp, but he wasn’t going to go into the other vehicle for his gear. There were people out here, and there weren’t in there.
They couldn’t see him shake or tear up again.
There was no coffee unless he used an MRE packet or opened a jar of Folgers instant and heated water. He grabbed a Ripit. He didn’t want to sleep.
As dawn grayed in the east, Gina Alexander felt a little better. Her eyes were gritty, her bladder very full, and she wanted some light before she went to drain out. She was uncomfortable to the point of pain. That wasn’t enough to overcome the cold, loneliness, and sheer panic. She was damp and sticky all over from sweat and dew. They were lost beyond anything imaginable, anything real, and she was terrified.
It got a bit grayer, and pressure overcame fear.
“Caswell, can you come with me? Latrine break. SFC Spencer, can you be backup again?”
“Sure.” “Can do.”
She leaned against the rock, rifle across her lap, and it came out in a flood. Caswell took care of business, and Spencer politely kept his back turned. Or maybe he was more afraid of what might be out there.
She buckled fast, and they jogged back to the trucks.
It was a striking sunrise, and she fumbled with her camera, but couldn’t recall how to shoot that close to the sun, and she was disoriented from fatigue.
Spencer said, “With your permission, sir, I’m going to suggest we take turns napping in daylight, inside the vehicles. Two hours each, two at a time.”
“Yeah. Do it.”
“Roger. Alexander, Ortiz, you’re first, lie down. You both look rough.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said.
On the one hand, she didn’t want to sleep. There was too much to do, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to everyone else. What if they all transported back and she got left behind alone in the MRAP? But she was delirious, nauseated and hallucinating. She climbed up the metal stairs and into the back in the gray twilight, slumped into a seat, and realized she was passing out as she reached for the collar of her armor.
Bob Barker dug through the piled crap in the back of Charlie Eight, looking for his E-tool. He’d use the shovel if he had to, but the entrenching tool, there it was, was better. He needed to take a dump something fierce, and he didn’t want to leave a mess.
When he got back he’d need to say something about cleaning stuff up. The back of the vehicle looked like a trash truck. If they couldn’t find their gear, they couldn’t react well.
Without a word, Trinidad followed him. He nodded. No one wanted to be out of sight of anyone else, and they knew there were wolves here.
In the movies, something always took people home, or they pulled together into a team and accomplished greatness. He didn’t see that happening. They were all scared shitless, or rather, scared into not shitting. He felt like he had a rock inside.
He scooped out a hole fast, dropped trou, and squatted. He could smell various human urines. They’d need a proper field latrine, too. Everyone was freaking out.
Then he was, too. A rush of heat, panicked breathing. He couldn’t see the vehicles. He looked up at Trinidad, who looked back briefly, then toward the troops again.
He wiped with a paper napkin, tossed it in the dip, pulled up his pants, and shoveled dirt back over it.
He should probably have some water. He’d been eating the coffee powder, and his throat was raw from a half pack of Marlboros.
He was going to be out of those by tomorrow. Crap.
He noticed Alexander and Oglesby had their phones out. They might be looking at pictures or listening to music, but they needed their attention here on the mission, whatever that mission might be, not moping. He wanted to grab his, too, but he shouldn’t.
“You need to put those away,” he told them.
“But . . .” Oglesby looked like he was about to argue. Alexander just powered hers down and slid it into a pocket. Oglesby followed suit. He looked annoyed.
Armand Devereaux was surprised to find he’d actually napped, and hard. He woke as Barker kicked his boot. He squinted and twisted. He was too tall for these seats, and his neck ached.
“Yeah, I’m up.”
His dream had been messed up, too, but he didn’t remember it already.
Using one hand for support, he staggered out the back.
“Drink water,” he said. It was almost a conditioned reflex to remind the troops, and right now, they needed it more than most. Where the hell were they? “And brush your goddamned teeth,” he added.
He hadn’t prayed in years. Sure, he went through the motions, went to Confession and Mass, but that was largely for Mama. It was important, but he’d been a pretty undevout Catholic.
He was praying now. Perhaps Mary could intercede for them. He had no idea which saint would apply. So he picked several.
The troops were going through motions, too. Ortiz and Caswell were atop the guns. Dalton and Oglesby wandered around the perimeter. The CO was swaying.
Spencer met his eyes and flicked them toward the lieutenant. He nodded.
He approached the lieutenant from the side and said, “Sir, you need rest, too. We’ll need you alert later.”
“Can’t sleep.”
“I have Benadryl, but I would rather save it.”
Spencer said, “He’s right, sir. Listen to the medic. I’ll cover things; you take a break.”
“Goddamnit, okay.”
They watched him mutter and stumble his way up into Number Nine. He was literally unconscious in twenty seconds.
“What do you think of this, Sergeant Spencer?” he asked.
“I think it’s fucked up, but I don’t think we can do anything about it.”
“Yeah. And we’re definitely a long way off.”
“Oh?”
“Did you see the constellations? They shifted slightly.”
“I’m well read, but not that much.”
“I’m taking some astronomy. The stars have moved a bit. We’re either later or earlier.”
Spencer said, “Earlier.”
“Unless some future Earth is a park and some aliens have brought us here as a zoo exhibit.”
The SFC raised his eyebrows and said, “Damn. I hadn’t considered that one. But you’re right. Could be.”
“I always wanted to get out of Queens so I could see more stars.”
Spencer shrugged.
Armand looked him over. He was haggard.
“You rest next.”
Spencer nodded slowly. “Yeah. If I can.”
“You will. Right now, can you help me get people to drink?”
“Yeah. Listen up!”
Armand said, “Drink water. That’s an order. You should have had a liter each today at least. And no more Ripits or Red Bull. Caffeine withdrawal is ugly.”
A couple of them grumbled, but they all complied.
“Hey, I don’t want to have to stick you and bag you out here. And someone dig a latrine.”
“Already did,” Barker said. “Just a squattie, but it’ll keep things cleaner.”
“Thanks.”
Martin Spencer woke in pain. His back ached from trying to sleep in odd positions, and he wasn’t twenty anymore. He was sweaty and grimy. His guts burned because he hadn’t been taking his stomach meds, and had been chewing MRE coffee powder. Stress and lack of sleep wasn’t helping. He washed down two of the meds. Then he thought about that.
His paranoia was a good thing. He always carried a year’s supply of meds, but had about three months left. If they were stuck here, he’d need to develop workarounds, or he’d start dying slowly and painfully.
Outside, everyone moved around stiffly. They were all fatigued, all scared, and all worn ragged.
The LT stared off to the west at the falling sun. Another day had gone by, of combat naps, panic, and pulling twigs from the grass for firewood.
“Anything you need, sir?”
“No.”
He wasn’t going to push the issue, but he understood he might have to remove Elliott and take over. That was one of those things they mentioned in BNCOC, but you hoped never happened. That didn’t make this any easier.
“I was going to put people on shifts tonight, if they can,” he hinted.
“I have it. Thank you.”
“Understood, sir.”
He backed away cautiously.
He hoped the man did have it. Though if he did assume command, he had no idea what he could do differently.
He noted the available water was depleting.
“Okay, listen up! Save your water bottles, we may need to refill them. Don’t crunch them up, and don’t throw them away. And get the pop cans, too.”
“What’s it matter?” Oglesby asked. “Either we get back or we don’t.”
He’d known that kid was going to be a problem. He was a specialist, and a mouthy one.
“Secure the crap. It matters because we may need water storage, and because leaving trash here is an OPSEC violation.”
Then Oglesby was in his face.
“Newsflash, asshole! There aren’t any Taliban around here. We’re in some fucked up sci fi world, and either we find water or we fucking die! Didn’t you—”
He punched the kid.
Oglesby fell backward and sprawled, a welt already showing on his cheek.
“Put your helmet on, too.”
The kid came up fast, looking angry, but Barker and Dalton grabbed him.
Dalton said, “Dude, it’s cool. Save the bottles, okay?”
They eased him away, as Spencer burned. The young kids always thought they knew better, and for whatever reason, he was frequently ignored, even as an SFC. It had to be his presence. Whatever it was, he couldn’t command people properly.
It was obvious to him that tossing bottles off a convoy was different from leaving them in a hasty bivouac. He grabbed two, and a Monster can, and tossed them into the back of Charlie Nine.
He saw the LT, whose jaw was clenched, but said nothing.
He turned back to Oglesby and said, “Are you finished? We do the best we can. Keep track of everything. If you fire a weapon, find the brass. Keep the MRE pouches, we may need them to hold water, or as dressings. Keep cardboard, we can write on it or use it as tinder. Burn cigarette butts and all other small trash. Everything must be kept neat. It may be all we have for a long time.”
Devereaux said, “Everyone should have had about six bottles or a full Camelbak by now. And change your socks. Hygiene.”
Martin really didn’t want to go to the effort of taking his boots off, but he’d just made a stink about keeping cans, so he led by example and took his boots off. Then he put them back on to climb into the truck and dig through the pile of bags until he found his, and dig through that for socks. Under the Gore-Tex, under the towel, into the other boots, where the clean socks were.
He changed them, noticed his feet were black and lint covered, with creases from the socks and whatever sandy grit had gotten into the boots. He put the dirty ones in his laundry bag, and resecured everything, then tied his boots.
That did feel a bit better. And how did a very simple task become such a labor?
Fatigue, stress, everything.
The others were changing socks, and there were creases and stains on their feet, too.
Then he realized he actually was hungry. He’d have to go get an MRE.
He hadn’t mentioned that once the food ran out, they’d either be hunting or eating grubs. There wasn’t much else around here.
The chicken fajita MRE was adequately edible. But it made him thirsty. Another bottle of water went down.
The LT was still standing, staring at nothing. But he had changed his socks.
“Sir, water is going to become an issue shortly. We’ll need to find some.”
The LT replied, “What do you suggest?” without any emotion at all. That was creepy.
“Downhill, sir, north, to where there’s likely a watershed.”
“Denied. We will wait in this location for recovery.”
They could wait a bit longer. He’d give the LT another day before taking action.
“Understood, sir.”
The man was completely gone.
Oglesby was violent. Caswell seemed to just sit against a rock ignoring everything around her. He wasn’t sure about the others. Both Trinidad and Ortiz sat chattering in Spanish, cursing occasionally and throwing pebbles. Alexander kept looking at things through her camera. He couldn’t tell if she was taking photos. Dalton bowed his head and prayed a lot. Barker seemed reasonably together; he’d dug the latrine and neatened his gear. Devereaux kept sorting through his med pack, laying stuff out and putting it back.
“I’m going to suggest everyone neaten your gear up, and find cold- and wet-weather gear. It was a bit cool last night, and we don’t want to get rained on.”
It took a while, but everyone did comply. He didn’t blame them for being slow. He saw that all the time in the field. This was worse than any bivouac he’d ever done.
Alexander had some kind of flat panel laid out. Battery charger. Good. He used rechargeables in his flashlights, so that would help them if this turned out long-term.
He didn’t see any way it wasn’t long-term, and another mild panic attack rushed through him. They couldn’t get home. Whatever sent them here appeared random and unplanned.
He tried thinking about that. No aliens or future people showed up demanding or requesting information or help. They weren’t facing any particular threat. There were no real resources. Sticking them here wasn’t accomplishing anything for anyone. They were just here.
He could think of no way to get home.