William Dietz - The Seeds of Man

The rest of the day was spent preparing for the trip to Brooks. There was plenty to do, but the most difficult chore was washing their clothes, a task that usually fell to Lora. After getting a packet of precious laundry detergent from Cassie and borrowing two plastic buckets from a trader’s wife, Lora made her way to the river, where others were already hard at work. Some were there to wash clothes while others took sponge baths.

The first step was to wade out into the freezing-cold water and fill the buckets. After placing the clothes in one of them, Lora added some detergent. After a twenty-minute soak, each item was scrubbed with a brush prior to being rinsed in the river. Once that was accomplished, she had to wring each garment dry—a difficult task for one person. Fortunately a young wife stepped in to help Lora get the last of the water out.

Having lugged the wet clothes back to the tent, Lora draped each item of clothing on the improvised drying rack located next to the fire and turned them as they dried, the result being that everything Lora wore smelled of wood smoke even before she put it on. Finally the task was complete and Lora could put things away.

It was getting late by then, and many tribal members were feasting on wild game. Not the leavers, though. Although they were trying to learn they lacked the skills necessary to live off the land and were forced to dine on little more than the dwindling rations they had with them.

Lora fixed dinner for her father and always gave him some of her food, something he wasn’t aware of and would have objected to had he known. Lora had never gone hungry in the Sanctuary but rarely got enough to eat anymore and knew that was unlikely to change. Millions had died of starvation, and most of those who survived were malnourished.

By the time dinner was over, people were leaving their various shelters and streaming toward the amphitheater. Names had been drawn from a hat, and Don Beck’s was last. That meant he had to stay and guard the camp against the other residents of Ksikk Town.

Spirits were high, and Lora followed George and Cassie as the crowd pulled them along. Once across the river and inside the arena, Lora saw that the bonfire had been lit and was being tended by a group of boys. Had her wood been consumed already? Perhaps so.

The best seats were already taken, but the threesome found a reasonably good spot on the east side of the clearing, and that’s where they spread the tarp George had brought with him. There was a twenty-minute wait while the latecomers got settled. But then, the moment darkness fell, the ceremony began. There was an opening speech from a chief old enough to remember the days before the nuclear war and the troubles that followed. He had a battery-powered bullhorn, and his deep, resonant voice could be heard far and wide. “Millions of automobiles roamed the land back in those days,” he said. “And we, like the buffalo, lived on reservations. Now we roam free, the bison are coming back, and our children’s children will live to see the day when they will outnumber the dead automobiles.”

The speech was followed by an opening parade that was led by more than a hundred members of the Blackfoot tribe but included representatives from the Sioux Nation and the Ojibwa, all of whom considered themselves northerners. The southern tribes were the Kiowa, the Comanches, the Pawnee, and the Ponca peoples. The parade was followed by demonstrations of dancing, singing, and drumming.

Of equal importance, to Lora anyway, were the fantastic costumes that the men and women wore. Most were made of buckskin decorated with bright geometric patterns, fans of feathers, blocks of colorful beadwork, long fringes, fancy belts, and more. Each outfit was as individual as the person who wore it, a work of art. Finally, after a call for the next powwow, the gathering was over and people streamed across the river. They were subdued now. The big day was over and a year of waiting had begun.

By the time Lora got up the next morning, hundreds of early risers had already left. The next couple of hours were spent having breakfast, breaking camp, and loading the mules with supplies. Then it was time to mount up and follow the others through what remained of the encampment. Tepees were coming down, dogs tussled with each other over scraps of food, and the scent of wood smoke laced the air.

Once the camp was behind them, water flew as the lead animals splashed through the river and climbed the opposite bank. The sun was out, but the air was so cold that Lora could see her breath, and a steady breeze made it feel even worse. But there was nothing she could do except to zip her parka all the way up and try to ignore how cold her extremities felt.

The party consisted of thirty-two Blackfoot warriors, plus the leavers, which added up to more than forty people—a group large enough to scare most bandits away. So with very little to worry about, Lora was free to daydream and think about her future, the challenge being that it was nearly impossible to guess what lay in store for her.

She liked growing plants, so farming made sense. But was that all she could expect? Boys and men had begun to notice her since leaving the Sanctuary. But she was too young for marriage and somewhat vulnerable without being married. So where did that leave her? Living with her father? And with Cassie? That wouldn’t work. She already felt like a third wheel. All she could do was wait and see. Maybe the answer would reveal itself in Brooks.

It wasn’t long before Twolakes led the column across Highway 2 and into the mostly flat farmland beyond. The plan was to avoid main highways, as well as the people who traveled on them, and make a beeline for Brooks. That would not only save time but also allow the party to bypass the city of Calgary, which was under the control of fanatics called the Crusaders, a group that believed in human sacrifice. Lora shivered at the thought.

As the day progressed and the sun arced across an unblemished blue sky, the group passed through a number of small hamlets. Some were little more than ruins. Others had been fortified, and some boasted watchtowers. Lora saw a glint of reflected light as they circled one such structure and knew a lookout was watching them through binoculars.

There were other signs of life as well, including the occasional sound of a gunshot, a far-off finger of smoke pointing up at the sky, and fresh tracks that crossed theirs. But most of the locals lived in a perpetual state of fear and weren’t about to reveal themselves if they could avoid doing so.

As the sun sank into the west, Twolakes led them into a small ghost town. Empty-eyed buildings stared at them from both sides of the main street. All the structures had been looted long ago and now, after decades of neglect, were falling apart. The single exception was a church made from limestone, and that was where Twolakes took them. Not only was the structure defensible; it was surrounded by a shoulder-high stone wall, which soon became a corral.

After caring for her pony and collecting her pack from Mr. Nix, Lora entered the church. She had read about such places but never been in one before. Tim Hobbs clearly felt right at home. He went straight to what had been the altar, knelt in front of it, and began to pray.

The interior had been stripped and, judging from the trash that lay about, had served as a camping spot many times before. The fact that Twolakes was so familiar with the place made Lora curious. What had brought him to the town in the past? And, come to think of it, why escort the leavers to Brooks?

So later that evening, after Fry and Twolakes completed their rounds, she asked him. The Blackfoot was seated on a rickety chair carving a piece of meat off a chunk of dried venison. He smiled. “All of this land belonged to my people once—and all of it will be ours again. But only if we are vigilant. My job is to see, hear, and report to the chiefs. There are others— many others—and they have similar responsibilities.”