“Meat is meat. Food is food. They are different. They don’t look the same. They definitely don’t taste the same.”
“Lots of food looks and tastes different. We had corn and apples yesterday. Corn is different from rabbit which is different from apples.”
“No, food is always the same. Those things aren’t food.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pulled his pack to one side and fished a piece of dehydrated fruit from a pocket. “Here. Dried apple. Food.”
“That isn’t food.”
He pulled a chunk off with his teeth. “It’s something you eat so it’s food.” Fragments of apple sprayed out as he spoke through a mouthful of pulp.
“No.”
“Well, whatever you call it, here.” He handed a piece of dried apple to her and reseated the pack on his shoulders.
After they’d walked for a few minutes, Elle said, “It’s good. The apple. It’s better than food.”
He rolled his eyes but she was behind him and didn’t see.
They continued that way, walking single file, for the remainder of the return trip. The air was comfortable for walking although the warmth of the afternoon was starting to yield to the cool of the coming evening.
“Salut,” Court shouted and waved to the person keeping watch from a platform suspended twenty feet up between the trunks of three trees. There was rarely any need for a watch but it was part of the routine of the village. Court had scared off a pair of coywolves a couple months earlier but the wildlife usually stayed away. It was more important to keep track of who left the village and make sure they returned before dark. They’d lost an amorous couple when Court was younger. Teenagers a few years older than him who’d snuck off for some privacy. From what they found, it looked like a rutting moose had attacked the boy and the girl had hit her head on a rock trying to run away. Court had found the girl’s body. He hadn’t thought of that in a long time. He shook his head, trying to push the memory away.
After the blood was drained, he skinned and deboned the rabbit. He mixed the chopped meat with potatoes, carrots, and onions in a pot hanging over a snapping campfire. With Marsh and Walker away, Court’s common table would have only Pica and Elle tonight. The modest stew would be more than enough.
The stew was thick and fragrant when Colleen wandered over and inhaled over the pot as Court stirred. “Smells good. I’d add more thyme.”
“I’d prefer to add garlic.”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I asked Marsh to barter for new garlic bulbs if he can find them in Alma. If I can get a new crop started, I’ll trade you a dozen cloves for a night’s watch in the winter.”
“I’ll take that deal anytime.”
“You’ll change your tune when your bones are as old as mine. How is the girl?”
Court looked at Elle, who was watching a pair of young boys practice printing the alphabet in the dirt with a stick.
“Strange. She was upset about killing a rabbit to eat. And she was going on and on about the things we eat not being food.”
“Interesting.” Colleen tapped a finger against her chin. “Could be she’s used to only eating government rations.”
“You mean that gray stuff Vaidehi brought when she moved here?”
“Yes. Tastes awful but keeps people alive.”
“If that’s what she’s used to, she should kiss my boots for giving her apples and stew.”
Colleen laughed at him. “She doesn’t seem like the boot kissing type.”
“True,” he replied with a grin. “Any word on Marsh and Walker?”
“Nothing, but that’s how we want it. If we hear from them, it means something’s gone wrong.”
CHAPTER 6: WALKER
“Can we take a short break?”
Walker didn’t understand how the much older Marsh could keep going for hours without stopping. Their pace was leisurely but shouldn’t someone his age need to rest? Or take a piss?
Well, he’s not carrying a pack loaded with fur and animal parts.
Marsh looked at the sky. “We’re almost to Chignecto and the sun’s getting low. Another hour at most. We’ll find a place to sleep there for the night. We should push through.”
“I at least need a second to piss.”
“Go ahead.” Marsh waved his hand toward the edge of the narrow trail. Walker let his pack slide from his shoulder and stepped a few feet into the trees. Despite spending a significant amount of his life walking through the woods with other people, he still liked a bit of privacy when he relieved himself.
The mosquitoes weren’t concerned with his sense of modesty and he had to do some maneuvering to keep them away. He splashed his pant leg in the process. “Nack,” he said in frustration.
“You alright over there?” Marsh asked.
Walker felt his ears burn with embarrassment. “Fine,” he called back. “Just the nacking ‘squitoes.”
“Mind your language.”
“What? I can’t say ‘squitoes anymore?”
“That’s not what I meant and you full well know that.”
Walker returned to the trail and pulled up his pack, rotating his body so Marsh wouldn’t see the wet spots on his pant legs.
“Loads of people say nacking. What’s the big deal?”
“You need to mind your context. Not everyone is as easy living as those in our village. Mark my words, we will run into folks who will be offended by impolite talk of any kind and we don’t want to attract attention to ourselves. You must stay quiet and be invisible. That means no talking about the village. No mention of the Qyntarak. And no coarse language. We’re close enough now that we could run into someone at anytime.”
“Fine, I get it. I’ll watch what I say.”
“Good.” The old man started walking again. “And you pissed on your pants. Try to stop doing that as well. We’ll smell bad enough when we reach Chignecto.”
Walker’s entire face flushed red, he could feel it, and he was thankful that Marsh was walking ahead of him.
They arrived at the outskirts of Chignecto an hour later. Walker knew that Marsh had visited countless times over the decades, but it was his first time. He was dumbstruck by the spectacle of merchants selling roasted meats on sticks, clothes, antique trinkets, and scrap salvaged from the old machines of pre-Qyntarak society.
Marsh tugged on his arm. “Come along. We aren’t here for the bazaar.”
“I had no idea it would be like this. Look at all the people. It’s like a village festival.”
Marsh squeezed the boy’s arm and narrowed his eyes.
“Sorry,” Walker whispered.
“Mind your context.”
They pushed through a crowd of forty or fifty people milling around a dozen makeshift stalls. Walker tried to take in each face as it passed but was quick to avert his eyes when someone looked back. Beyond the bazaar, Chignecto teemed with humanity. Shelters of various states of permanence were packed tight along the road. Marsh pressed on, the click of his walking stick drawing the stares of a cluster of old women resting in the partial shade of a threadbare canopy.
After several minutes of walking deeper into the settlement, Marsh stopped in front of a small metal building surrounded by weeds as high as Walker’s waist.
“Watch this,” Marsh said. He took one step forward and a dog—or maybe a coywolf, Walker couldn’t be sure—lunged from the grass barking.
Walker jumped back. Spittle flew from the beast’s dark snout. Marsh laughed and stood his ground.
Through the barking, Walker heard the jingle of metal and realized as he grabbed Marsh’s sleeve that it was a chain. The dog stopped a foot short of Marsh, straining at the tether and snarling.
From inside the building, a woman’s voice yelled out, “Elon’s fire, what the blazes is going on out there? If you kids are teasing that dog again, I’ll loose his chain, I promise you that.” The flimsy metal door flew open and a bull of a woman stormed out. Her wide shoulders filled the doorway. Her white hair, cut short, glowed against her dark skin. The menace in her eyes faded when they took in the sight of Marsh laughing at the dog. “Marsh Lapin, you old coot. Leave poor Jean alone.”