But I’ve never walked a freeway before today. I found the experience both fascinating and frightening. In some ways, the scene reminded me of an old film I saw once of a street in mid-twentieth-century China— walkers, bicyclers, people carrying, pulling, pushing loads of all kinds.
But the freeway crowd is a heterogeneous mass-black and white, Asian and Latin, whole families are on the move with babies on backs or perched atop loads in carts, wagons or bicycle baskets, sometimes along with an old or handicapped person.
Other old, ill, or handicapped people hobbled along as best they could with the help of sticks or fitter companions. Many were armed with sheathed knives, rifles, and, of course, visible, holstered handguns. The occasional passing cop paid no attention.
Children cried, played, squatted, did everything except eat. Almost no one ate while walking. I saw a couple of people drink from canteens. They took quick, furtive gulps, as though they were doing something shameful— or something dangerous.
A woman alongside us collapsed. I got no impression of pain from her, except at the sudden impact of her body weight on her knees. That made me stumble, but not fall. The woman sat where she had fallen for a few seconds, then lurched to her feet and began walking again, leaning forward under her huge pack.
Almost everyone was filthy. Their bags and bundles and packs were filthy. They stank. And we, who have slept on concrete in ashes and dirt, and who have not bathed for three days— we fitted in pretty well. Only our new sleepsack packs gave us away as either new to the road or at least in possession of new stealables. We should have dirtied the packs a little before we got started. We will dirty them tonight.
I’ll see to it.
There were a few young guys around, lean and quick, some filthy, some not dirty at all. Keiths.
Today’s Keiths. The ones who bothered me most weren’t carrying much. Some weren’t carrying anything except weapons.
Predators. They looked around a lot, stared at people, and the people looked away. I looked away.
I was glad to see that Harry and Zahra did the same.
We didn’t need trouble. If trouble came, I hoped we could kill it and keep walking.
The gun was fully loaded now, and I wore it holstered, but half covered by my shirt. Harry bought himself a knife. The money he had snatched up as he ran from his burning house had not been enough to buy a gun. I could have bought a second gun, but it would have taken too much of my money, and we have a long way to go.
Zahra used the shoe money to buy herself a knife and a few personal things. I had refused my share of that money. She needed a few dollars in her pocket.
16
Earthseed
Cast on new ground
Must first perceive
That it knows nothing.
EARTHSEED: THE BOOKS OF THE LIVING
MONDAY, AUGUST 2, 2027
(cont. from notes expandedAUGUST 8) Here are some of the things I’ve learned today: Walking hurts. I’ve never done enough walking to learn that before, but I know it now. It isn’t only the blisters and sore feet, although we’ve got those.
After a while, everything hurts. I think my back and shoulders would like to desert to another body.
Nothing eases the pain except rest. Even though we got a late start, we stopped twice today to rest. We went off the freeway, into hills or bushes to sit down, drink water, eat dried fruit and nuts. Then we went on. The days are long this time of year.
Sucking on a plum or apricot pit all day makes you feel less thirsty. Zahra told us that.
“When I was a kid,” she said, “there were times when I would put a little rock in my mouth. Anything to feel better. It’s a cheat, though. If you don’t drink enough water, you’ll die no matter how you feel.”
All three of us walked along with seeds in our mouths after our first stop, and we felt better. We drank only during our stops in the hills. It’s safer that way.
Also, cold camps are safer than cheery campfires.
Yet tonight we cleared some ground, dug into a hillside, and made a small fire in the hollow. There we cooked some of my acorn meal with nuts and fruit. It was wonderful. Soon we’ll run out of it and we’ll have to survive on beans, cornmeal, oats-expensive stuff from stores. Acorns are home-food, and home is gone.
Fires are illegal. You can see them flickering all over the hills, but they are illegal. Everything is so so dry that there’s always a danger of campfires getting away from people and taking out a community or two. It does happen. But people who have no homes will build fires. Even people like us who know what fire can do will build them. They give comfort, hot food, and a false sense of security.
While we were eating, and even after we’d finished, people drifted over and tried to join us. Most were harmless and easily gotten rid of. Three claimed they just wanted to get warm. The sun was still up, red on the horizon, and it was far from cold.
Three women wanted to know whether two studs like Harry and me didn’t need more than one woman. The women who asked this may have been cold, considering how few clothes they had on. It’s going to be strange for me, pretending to be a man.
“Couldn’t I just roast this potato in your coals?” and old man asked, showing us a withered potato.
We gave him some fire and sent him away— and watched to see where he went, since a burning brand could be either a weapon or a major distraction if he had friends hiding. It’s crazy to live this way, suspecting helpless old people. Insane.
But we need our paranoia to keep us alive. Hell, Harry wanted to let the old guy sit with us. It took Zahra and me together to let him know that wasn’t going to happen. Harry and I have been well-fed and protected all our lives. We’re strong and healthy and better educated than most people our age. But we’re stupid out here. We want to trust people. I fight against the impulse. Harry hasn’t learned to do that yet. We argued about it afterward, low voiced, almost whispering.
“Nobody’s safe, ” Zahra told him. No matter how pitiful they look, they can steal you naked. Little kids, skinny and big-eyed will make off with all your money, water, and food! I know. I used to do it to people. Maybe they died, I don’t know. But I didn’t die.”
Harry and I both stared at her. We knew so little about her life. But to me, at that moment, Harry was our most dangerous question mark.
“You’re strong and confident,” I said to him. “You think you can take care of yourself out here, and maybe you can. But think what a stab wound or a broken bone would mean out here: Disablement, slow death from infection or starvation, no medical care, nothing.”
He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know me anymore. “What, then?” he asked. “Everyone’s guilty until proven innocent?
Guilty of what? And how do they prove themselves to you?”
“I don’t give a piss whether they’re innocent or not,”
Zahra said. “Let them tend to their own business.”
“Harry, your mind is still back in the neighborhood,” I said. “You still think a mistake is when your father yells at you or you break a finger or chip a tooth or something. Out here a mistake— one mistake— and you may be dead. Remember that guy today? What if that happened to us?”
We had seen a man robbed— a chubby guy of 35 or 40 who was walking along eating nuts out of a paper bag. Not smart. A little kid of 12 or 13 snatched the nuts and ran off with them. While the victim was distracted by the little kid, two bigger kids tripped him, cut his pack straps, dragged the pack off his back, and ran off with it. The whole thing happened so fast that no one could have interfered if they’d wanted to. No one tried. The victim was unhurt except for bruises and abrasions— the sort of thing I had to put up with every day back in the neighborhood. But the victim’s supplies were gone. If he had a home nearby and other supplies, he would be all right. Otherwise, his only way of surviving might be to rob someone else— if he could.