William Dietrich - Getting back

"Walkabout?"

"The aborigines did it," Raven said quietly. "Sort of like a native American spirit quest. Go out alone into the wilderness to wander and survive and find a spirit. Magic."

"Like the old prophets," said Daniel.

"Like us," said Ethan.

"No, not like you," Oliver objected. "You're no abo, I can tell. Me, I've got some of the blood. I can hear the old ones when the wind blows. Heard 'em just now."

"How long have you been on walkabout, Oliver?" Raven asked.

He shrugged. "All my life."

"Do you remember the time before the Dying? Before the plague? When there were cars? Buildings? Other people?"

He looked troubled. "I dream it, sometimes. That's what I look for, missy. Not that I've ever found it."

"Great God," Ethan whispered. "He's a damned survivor. Somehow, he's immune."

Raven nodded at Oliver encouragingly. "And have you ever looked to the east? Ever looked where the sun comes up?"

He turned to look in that direction, his eyes bright in dark hollows under the dust like the mask of a raccoon, his stubble beard gritty, his body overclothed in the vagrant manner of someone who had no other way of carrying his belongings. "A bit. No different than here."

Their spirits sank.

"Unless you go to the wet part. Hard walking, some of that. Too many trees."

Raven brightened. "You've been there?"

"Oh yes. I've been everywhere. Have to, when you're the only one."

"Could you take us there?" She pointed.

"What? Across the sand? Are you crazy, missy?"

She looked confused.

"This is the bloody desert, right? No water here. We'd die, we go out there." He looked at them as if they were daft.

"Where then?" she asked in despair.

"Up to the mountains, the way I was going," he said impatiently. "Then east. You can find water up there along the ranges."

Their smiles cracked their dust-covered faces in an eruption of hope. "Ollie, we're lost," Raven said carefully. "Can you show us the way to the mountains? Show us how to get east?"

"East!" He considered a moment, scratching his beard. "Why east? Of course, then again, why not? I could go that way I suppose. What's east, I wonder?" He squinted at them. "Eh? What in the devil makes it so important to go that way?"

"Our home, Ollie. We're lost, and we want to get home."

"Home! Ah, well. That's what I'm looking for too."

They turned north, following the sinuous line of the dunes. The walking was easier now that they could march along the sandy crests, and their guide, however strange, boosted their spirits. Oliver pointed out the occasional track of an insect or lizard across the sand that suggested the dunes were not quite as sterile as they seemed. Still, when the sand gave way to a more familiar hard and arid plain, rocky and thorny and spotted with stunted trees and shrubs, the adventurers greeted the transition with relief. Here, at least, was something green.

A day later they began to cross stony ridges running east to west, a change in topography that broke the Outback's monotonous flatness. They could visually measure progress! As Oliver had promised, springs were easier to find at the base of these outcrops. Finally they came to a more imposing ridge about a thousand feet high. The range was the worn, polished nub of once-great mountains, the surviving sedimentary layers sculpted into battlements so shiny that they seemed to sweat. Touch confirmed the rock was as dry as old enamel, however. The adventurers began following the base of the range, camping in gaps where intermittent floods had cut passageways as direct and level as a highway. These canyons were shaded by gum and acacia trees.

Without quite realizing it, the group fell into a new rhythm. During the first couple of weeks in Australia, Daniel's whole body had been sore from unfamiliar exertion. The ground had been hard and lumpy, his neck had bent at unfamiliar angles in sleep, his feet constantly ached and his muscles had stiffened. Now the miles seemed routine to a body that had become leaner and harder. The adventurers had far less gear than when they'd arrived in Australia and were more comfortable despite that, or perhaps because of it. Their load was lighter and their tasks simpler. The ground had become a familiar bed, and the open sky a familiar roof. Bird calls, a fold of land, the march of insects, or a change in vegetation could all, they'd learned, direct them to water.

Alert and more familiar in their surroundings, they found the daily search for food to be easier as well. Fruit-bearing plants had become recognizable, and their skill as hunters was growing. Oliver proved an apt teacher. Sometimes he would disappear for a day or two and reappear with game, but at other times he would take one of the party with him and patiently point out animal sign, demonstrate a quiet stalking, or bring down prey with a well-aimed throwing stick or rock. He taught his new companions to follow the tracks of the sluggish blue-tongued lizard- an easy kill- and to recognize wild onion, bush cucumber, and pigweed seed. Oliver carried nothing but what he wore, picking up and discarding sticks, rocks, or scrap to use as tools when he needed. He seemed not only to understand animals but to be half animal himself, and his wild, casual freedom struck the others as both enviable and disturbing. Is this what they could become?

With the absence of seasonings, their mouths were becoming sensitive to a more subtle palate. They found they could take more pleasure in the dribble of a fruit's juice, the smoky energy of cooked meat, or the chewy nuttiness of roasted seeds. They never had enough to feast- they'd gotten used to, in fact, a daily rhythm of hunger pangs before the evening meal, something almost entirely unfamiliar in their lives back home- but they were finding enough food to live on and keep moving. After a rain they hunted for yalka bulbs, roasting them to release their nutty flavor. They dreamed of richer foods, of course- sugar! — but subsisted on what they had.

Raven, who had expected to escape this experience and who instead had been forced to share it, remained stiff with the others. She was both the potential means to escape and a representative of the system that had stuck them in Australia, and their feelings toward her were confused. She was angry at Daniel for making a hard situation more difficult by losing the activator, worrying aloud that Rugard could still hunt them down before they could get back. Yet she also seemed to adapt to the wild with relative ease, suggesting her attitude in the tunnels had not been entirely an act. She was not squeamish about killing and cleaning game, displayed endurance, and had an emotional resiliency that warded off despair. Daniel tried to joke about their plight one evening.

"I've had to check into hell, throw away the activator, and walk a thousand miles to get another date with you, Raven. You seem to be doing quite well." He was watching her skin and cook a rabbit, the smoke and roasting meat mingling with the scent of eucalyptus. He felt strangely content. The convicts had been left behind, tomorrow was simply tomorrow, and life was no longer a set of deadlines and meetings and pressures. Did she feel what he felt?

She looked at him skeptically. "When I told you I was a cheap date, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"It isn't so bad though, is it? Isn't this the kind of freedom we talked about in the tunnels?"

She sat back on her haunches, using a forearm to brush her hair out of her eyes. "I never said it was bad. That's why I wasn't very guilty about sending people here. But this is a fantasy land, Daniel. This is recess. Our little party has hundreds of square miles to live on because we're the only people here, but Australia can't work for the rest of the planet. The only thing that can work for so many billions of people is obedience. The only thing that can work is United Corporations." She looked out across the dusky desert. "It's best that most people never see this. It would only confuse them."