Forever Mine
by S. R. Torris
Smashwords Edition
In association with White Wolf Press, LLC
Copyright ©2011 S.R. Torris All Rights Reserved
Print ISBN 978-1-257-75743-5
Acknowledgments
First book, first publishing and I must say it would have never been done without the support of the following people…
To Naya'Hri Zaire who said I should do it in the first place;
To Nneka, Noel, and Ramiah for your perspicacity and invaluable feedback;
To My Cousin, Hank, LaTonia, Quiona, Real, and Samuel for the "Cheering Section" -- and I ain't talking about bleach!
And to Brian Rathbone, the man who gave me a chance.
Thank you all.
Andiamo!
Dedication
To November, Spider Juice, and Me.
It's about time!
Introduction…
She was the love of my life and I never knew her real name. All of the time, the lust, the love that passed between us - I never thought to ask until she was dying.
"So," I said to her, tears streaming down my face, "what do you call yourself?"
She looked at me and smiled. She looked so young, even younger when she smiled. Her hair was turning grey but she was still beautiful to me and I didn't want her to leave. It wasn't fair for her to leave me now. We'd survived, no, we lived in this crazy lawless world; she saved my life, she saved the lives of my family and all I could do was hold her hand and cry at her side. And watch her die…
"Yours," she said in barely a whisper. "Forever."
I stayed with her until she passed.
Chapter 1
My brother was 12 and being taught to do many things in the wilderness we roamed. This was the state of the world we now lived in. I was 9 and wondered why could I never participate in anything like fishing or hunting? The excuse: RAHOWA. It was the mythical racial holy war my Uncle Jeff constantly went on about. He'd say things weren't how they used to be, ominously with dramatic pauses where needed, and a "pure" little girl like me could have terrible things done to her if she went off on her own without a man to help her. A man. Like my 12-year-old brother? Whatever.
There was indeed a war, The End War, which changed our lives -- our entire planet. When it happened it wasn't racial and it was most definitely NOT holy. But there was enough propaganda that at war's official end, in 2020 A.D., there were very few people who had racially mixed communes. Many were wandering nomads that traded fairly with each other, while others fought with and stole from each other.
Thanks to the EMPs, biological weapons, and disease, we didn't have to worry about nuclear fallout or radiation. We did have to worry about each other, which I learned, was much worse.
My father is the head of our clan. My mother, Uncle Jeff and his concubine, Sara, Sara's sister Jenny, my brother Chet, and I round out our little tribe. We're all part of the new nomadic people The End War produced. We tried to keep a steady camp up North deep in the woods but we'd get wind of Raiders and be on our way before they could get hold of our supplies, our weapons -- our women. My Uncle Jeff, the Griot (he got used to the title which he despised at first) would tell tall tales of bands of raging "Darkies", black as night, who would eat the beating heart out of our chest. Of course, these tales would always be spun when I didn't pack up fast enough to haul out of the site we were on. My father would usually give me a hearty smack on the bottom to speed up the process and issue a proper slap on the back of my Uncle Jeff's head for filling my head with scary stories.
"You cut that shit out, dammit! Marva wouldn't want her hearing that garbage." Then he would look me right in my eyes and say, "There are plenty of white men out there that would hurt my little girl and I'm not gonna stop to chat about it if one of 'em comes. Any man is a DEAD man."
Marva, my mother, died a couple of months after I was born. My father tells me how much I look just like her; I think it's the reason I can't go anywhere without some kind of supervision. Whatever playtime I got my father was not that far behind me, scanning for Raiders, possible rabid animals and other dangers out in the wilderness. I know he didn't want to lose his "little Marva"...
My mother was a frail woman, from what I've been told. She was very strong at heart though. The year I was born was a year that the Raiders were ravaging the countryside with reckless abandon. Any peaceful camps were looted, women and children kidnapped -- we'd spent a month running for our very survival. I was fresh out of the womb and already fighting for my life. We had a group but not large enough to hold off violent Raiders who surely had us outnumbered. My mother never regained her strength and the running from day to day was too much for her. She died in a cave they'd found safe enough to hide in.
Later that evening, he'd had his revenge. It didn't quell his despair but it left us with fewer Raiders to worry about.
Chapter 2
We were supposed to leave camp at lunchtime.
It was going to be a different day for me, I'd planned it all out the night before. I would get up earlier than everyone else, make sure I was bundled because the weather was getting colder and I could sense with my 9-year-old brain, that snow would be coming soon. I was going to Dad's fishing hole were I was determined that I'd be the one to bring in the catch. Dad had done this many times with Chet and regardless of the test it would be on my patience, I would sit quietly to catch enough fish for everyone. Once he saw what I'd done Dad would have to let me do the things Chet got to do.
The snow was beautiful. Thank God the war didn't destroy any of this, I thought to myself. I looked as it settled on the trees and was excited that there would be more as we moved on to another, safer place. I loved walking in the snow, listening to Uncle Jeff tell his less hostile, more comical stories on the way to a new location. I especially loved the Trade Post where we could get warnings of Raiders in the area, and my favorite, get to see other people. As much as Uncle Jeff went on about RAHOWA and its racial politics, it always seemed to me that people at the Trade Post were happy to see other people -- just so long as they weren't Raiders.
I listened for the sounds of the woods but there was only peaceful quiet. Why would Raiders come here and mess all of this up with their noise and scary faces? My daydreaming about Raiders brought me out of my bliss in time to realize I'd wandered off in what had to be the wrong direction. It felt like I was walking for days and it never took this long for me to find the pond that Dad and Chet fished out of.
I started to panic until I saw a clearing and a large lake ahead. It looked so much bigger than when I'd come here before. Maybe it was because I was on my own about to do a very big thing. A very big girl thing and Dad wouldn't have a choice but to treat me like a big girl. Of course, I'd still play with the doll he carved for me but I also wanted a slingshot. I would shoot bunnies just like Chet and Uncle Jeff -- no, I wouldn't use my slingshot to kill a poor defenseless bunny, I'd use it to help fight. That was if I ever saw a Raider up close and in person.
Too much daydreaming and not enough paying attention. I hadn't realized that I'd walked pretty far out onto the ice. In fact, I hadn't realized that this lake was a lot larger than the one we get our lovely little fish from.
Then, I fell in.
The water felt like I was being hit with a blast of fire even though it was freezing cold. It was at this moment that I silently thanked Uncle Jeff and his love of telling tales. I began to remember the one he told me about a man who told him that he was stuck in a freezing lake for almost 24hours until his dog came and pulled him out. None of us believed him, or his imaginary man for that matter, we just loved the way Uncle Jeff could tell a story; sinking into that ice cold water made me remember every detail hoping it would give me just a bit more time, enough for my father to notice my absence and come save me.
I kept what I could of my body above the water. I wiggled my toes a little bit and as much as I wanted to I didn't cry for help. Part of the reason was I needed to conserve my energy and panicking would surely kill me. More of the reason was I didn't want my cries to signal the wrong people who would also, most surely kill me, or worse. I couldn't say how long I'd been in that ice-cold water before I found myself stuck to the ice. This meant I no longer had to struggle to keep most of my body above the surface. However, I couldn't feel my toes which made me remember something else Uncle Jeff said the mystery man told him, he had to get three toes removed when he finally did get to some human beings that could help him. I started to cry and immediately became exhausted with each heave of sorrow. What a way to go. Chet would talk to my frozen toeless corpse about how I should never have done this because I am not a boy. Uncle Jeff, for all his bluster and bravado would break down like a little baby. I'm as much his daughter as I am my father's. And my poor heartbroken father, to lose another woman that he loves so dearly, what would it do to him? I cried even harder.
Through blurry, tear filled eyes I saw someone coming toward me. Alone, a sled was pulled with tree bough on the back. Much to my horror the lone figure was winding back toward the woods, away from me. I wasn't going to die out here in silence when someone who could save me was yards away. I didn't care if it was a Raider or not, I didn't want to freeze to death alone stuck on the ice of the lake.
"HELP ME! PLEASE DON'T GO!"
I felt so weak I was sure that the person didn't hear me. But the figure did hear me because it stopped and turned around looking right in my direction.
It was dressed head to toe in a white outfit I hadn't seen before, even at the Trade Post, and it looked very warm, impervious to any element. There were goggles that covered eyes and large mittens -- I was looking at large winter robot and it was coming to rescue me. I'm in love, with a winter robot! I passed out. I was awakened by the commanding voice of what I guessed to be a teenaged boy. The voice had authority but it wasn't hard and startling like my father's or Uncle Jeff's. It was swimming in and out of my head as I started to pass out again.
"Hey! HEY! Spell your name!"
Play a game? Why on earth would I want to play a game right now when I am dying? My knight in a shining white suit! My savior, the very first crush I'll ever have and he's an idiot!
He was also closer to me than I thought. I could see my reflection in his goggles and he wasn't standing over me. He was on his belly peeling my frozen coat off the ice, dragging us both back to solid land slowly and carefully. I'd have a story to tell Uncle Jeff that I could show proof it happened; my snow robot would confirm everything. He would be better than any fish I would've taken back to the site.
He picked me up when we got to land and rearranged the animal skins on his sled. He gently laid me down on the skins and began to quickly take off my clothes. That part of the story would have to go untold so I wouldn't endanger the boy who came to my rescue. Dad and Uncle Jeff wouldn't be so kind, even though my winter robot was wrestling me from the icy grip of death.
"Damn, little girl, you picked a fine time to take a cold bath."
He took off his big warm coat and a heavy top shirt, revealing his beautiful brown lightly muscled arms.
I'm going to die, just like Uncle Jeff said! I should have stayed in camp and let Chet get the catch with Dad. I began to wonder if he was going to cut my heart out and eat it by the lake or if he would chop me up in pieces and save some of me for breakfast? He tied me up in his warm clothes, placing his mittens on my feet; he piled some more animal skins on top of me. They looked very light but under the weight of several skins I felt like I was being crushed. When he finally took off his hat and scarf to wrap my head, I could see he had very soft features, almost like a girl. He was young, as I'd guessed by his voice, younger than my father but older than Chet. That would have been comforting if not for the jagged scar that ran from just above his eyebrow down his cheek, to his chin. The depth of the scar ran through his right eye because it was a milky white color while his other eye was the same beautiful brown as his skin. He put on his goggles and off we went.
It began to snow. I started to cry again.
"You look like a nice one, please don't eat me," I said as he pulled me along in his sled, quickly trying to get out of the snow. It was cold.
"Save your strength little girl. We'll be safe soon."
I don't know where we were but it was shelter, indoor shelter with a fireplace! We were in a house! I'd never lived in a house all on my own with my family but we did get a chance to sleep in a few houses from time to time. Was this his house? Is this where he took all his "food"? I was in a bed with all kinds of animal skins piled on top of me and I had no clothes on at all. He was in the far corner of the house, if you could call it a "far" corner removing all the rest of his clothes and drying off from the snow. He wasn't a "he" after all! Her body was well toned but it was a girl's body, nonetheless. My very first and last crush was to be on a Black cannibal snow robot. I wished my father would find me in the nick of time.
She, in all her naked glory, came to the bed where I lay and got underneath all the crushing animal skins. She pulled me closer to her and began rubbing my somewhat numb legs. It felt comforting and I was beginning to get some sensation back in them. I could already feel my toes and was pretty sure that, unlike Uncle Jeff's friend, I'd be keeping them all. Confident and very comfortable I tried one last desperate and very innocent plea.
"Please don't eat me!"
"What?! Little girl -- "
"My Uncle Jeff says that 'Darkies' are cannibals who cut your heart out of your chest."
"Dark-?" she abruptly stopped rubbing my cold legs. "How about I put you back in your wet clothes, take you to your favorite bathing spot and throw you in there for your 'Uncle Jeff' to find your ass frozen solid?"
"Is it true, though? Are 'Darkies' cannibals? You don't seem like a cannibal."
"Look, I got your fuckin' 'Darkie', OK? There are no such things as 'Darkies', little girl. You don't get out this forest too much, do ya? You haven't seen many Folk? Your Uncle Jeff is an asshole but he's right, there are cannibals. We feed on the tongues of little girls who talk too much. Cut it right out your mouth with a wooden stick!"
I was paralyzed with fear. I wanted to run away but I'd gotten so warm and toasty that the weight of the animal skins didn't seem so heavy anymore. I was also very curious about my rescuer.
"You're not really a cannibal are you?
"Shut the fuck up little girl."
"How did you get your scar?"
"Mmmmmm, I feel a little hungry!"
"You're being mean," I said to her, mad that she wouldn't answer my questions. "I'm sorry I called you a 'Dark-', well you know, that word."
She squeezed me closer to her and resumed rubbing my legs as I drifted off to sleep.
I hope Dad isn't too worried.
Chapter 3
"What do you call yourself?"
I woke up to a warm fire crackling in the fireplace and my rescuer handing me a cup of very delicious soup with meat in it. When we didn't have to move so quickly, Dad would hunt the growing number of wildlife and we'd eat venison for days, I never got tired of it.
Dad!
"My Dad's gonna be looking for me. He's gonna be so worried -- and mad."
"It's dark, little girl, we ain't going nowhere right now. When the day breaks, we'll roll out. I'll take you back to your people, don't worry about that."
"K-H-Y-R-A. That's my name. See?" I reached for my necklace that my mother carved from an old tree branch before I was born.
"Khyra, huh?" She pronounced it with the "long y" and it sounded magical. I also noticed, sitting up in the comfortable bed, sipping my soup by the fire that she didn't look half as scary as I first thought she was. Her scar was softer on her face by the glow of the blazing fire and her milky white eye looked much more mysterious than evil. I imagined her to be like an old shaman, only younger than most that I've seen at the Trade Post.
"I'm 9. Do you know how many years you are?"
She came toward me and bent down, reaching under the bed for something.
"Aight, get out of my bed," she commanded. "You heal pretty fast and I eat at the table so you eat at the table. You looked warmed up enough."
I was very comfortable, like I hadn't even fallen in an icy lake earlier; it was as if I'd decided to pay an old friend a visit while sharing stories over warm soup. I crawled out of the bed and sat in a sturdy wooden chair at an equally sturdy table that was smooth with wear. In fact, I was able to look at the interior with a lot clearer eyes and it was very nice -- "homey". Right across the burning fireplace, with enough space so embers would burn her in her sleep was a very comfortable bed. It wasn't high off the ground but it wasn't so low that the bugs would get you. I was just happy not to have to sleep on the ground. The bed had a firm and inviting mattress that I will always believe for the rest of my life, had the magical powers to send the most worried almost hypothermic (which I was) people to the mystic land of Sleepville. A few feet away from the foot of her bed was the "dining room". It was where the table and four chairs were. A couple of metal cups were on the table along with what appeared to be silverware for eating (I was using a small wooden spoon for my meal) dinner or whatever else she wanted. Against the back wall there were shelves with a few metal plates, pans, and bowls. I couldn't believe my eyes - oranges in a jar! Where did she get this stuff? I'd only seen oranges twice at the Trade Post; they were pathetic with the peels still on them. Uncle Jeff bought one for me to share with Chet. When he finished peeling the thing, there was barely enough of it to fit in his hand. It was the sweetest treat we'd had and I thought it to be the best we would ever see until I saw the jar of magnificent, already peeled oranges. Those oranges just had to be sweeter.
"Stop eyeballing my shit before I gouge your little blues out your head and put them in the jar," she said having found what she was searching for underneath the bed.
"No you won't," I smiled at her victoriously, "you're not a cannibal."
"Oh, you so sure of that now? You wasn't saying that a minute ago."
"I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
She just looked at me. There was no malice, only frustration. She unsheathed a very large knife and waved it in my face with a sneer. It wasn't a frightful sneer but I frowned nonetheless. She was being mean again. She put the knife -- "machete" she called it, back into the sheath and showed the wooden handle. It had grooves and light markings under each groove.
"This rolls with me where ever I go. His name is Kunte Kente. My Pops gave this to me, you understand?" I nodded my head. "Good. So, each time the season turns I put a little tick on the handle. How many ticks you see here?"
My eyes lit up with excitement! A chance to count! The only chance I get to is when I'm counting something for my Dad at the Trade Post. Sara used to do the math and reading for us all until she saw I took a liking to it. From then on it was my job to read and add as best I could, much to the entertainment of those who were in earshot of my father conducting his business. I wondered if she read too?
After counting the "ticks" I was astonished that she was only 19!
"You're just a teenager! Where is your clan? Where is your Mommy and Daddy?"
"I'm grown enough, little girl. Besides, my sister is dead. Parents, dead."
I didn't expect her to say that. "You're by yourself?"
"Just me. No attachments. It works."
"You can be part of our clan. You could show Chet that girls do things too, he won't boss you around."
"Naaaah, baby. That ain't happening."
I was crestfallen. Didn't she like being my friend? We could go fishing some mornings then Dad could see that girls can help. I can help.
I missed my father…
She went in a corner and opened a chest I didn't even notice was there. This place must be lonely but she didn't look lonely, just sad.
"My Mommy is dead too."
There was empathy in her eyes that showed such warmth I wanted to hug her. Then she threw a bunch of clothes at me. There was a thick wool hat and what appeared to be a long john shirt. There were also some very thick socks that would probably reach my thighs if I tried them on. It was then I noticed some of my own clothes on the back of two chairs, drying by the fire.
"You're gonna need this stuff just in case some of your things don't dry by morning. And put the socks on because you have to sleep in those. Your feet will be freezing when you wake up."
"Do you read?"
"Yeah. It might surprise you, little girl, I even write a little too."
I was ecstatic again. "What do you read?"
She pointed to the bed, "Hop in there and cease the questions."
I obeyed, pulling on the thigh-high socks; I nestled in the spot I'd slept in earlier this morning. She busied herself with stones she took out of the hearth and positioned them around the bed. That's the magic trick to having a warm night's sleep. She crawled in beside me.
"I read whatever stories I can," she said. "Lately, I've mostly been reading maps."
"You don't have to join our clan if you don't want to."
Silence.
"But, we're friends. Could you at least come visit me to tell me what a 'map' is? And could you show me how to read one?"
More silence.
"You should join our clan."
She sighed. "First we gotta FIND your clan."
I turned toward her; she was lying on her back. The fire was very low and I could hear by her steady breaths that she was drifting off to sleep. I grabbed her arm and snuggled closer. Pretty soon I was in dreamland too, counting all the maps we were going to read together.
It was time for me to wake up. I was persuaded by a few hearty shakes and the smell of oranges.
"C'mon little girl. Get up and eat before I change my mind. The sooner I get you to your peoples, the sooner I can do me."
The oranges were as sweet as I imagined. She'd smothered them over a large piece of fresh hard bread. I'd made up my mind that when we found my family I was going to beg her to stay with us. Or at least we could trade with her if we passed by her area. Maybe we could stay with her so we wouldn't have to move around so much, which could be so wonderful.
"What Trade Post do you get your supplies?" I asked between delicious bites of breakfast.
"I stay away from the Trade Post as much as can. Too many people like to watch your movements."
"How do you know?" I asked, concerned.
"Finish up. We have some tracking to do."
Tracking we did. We went back to the area I'd come from just 24hours earlier; I'd walked a long way from "home". She looked at the site and saw things in the snow that, strain as might, were completely invisible to me. She explained that the snowfall wasn't too heavy through the night so we could still get a clear idea of when they left and what direction they were headed.
Why did I have to be so stupid yesterday? I should have just let Chet and Dad do the fishing like they usually did. She took me to the pond that I was supposed to fish from, I'd made a right instead of a left, which led me to my "cold bath". At the edge of the pond she broke the bad news to me.
"Raiders."
I was horrified.
"Your peoples came looking for you here," she pointed to the pond. She continued, "Your dad is the tracker, I guess? Whoever it is, they followed your tracks to the lake you fell in, probably saw that you got out judging by mess we left there, then lost the trail."
"Well how did they lose the trail?" I asked beginning to cry.
"I don't leave breadcrumbs, little girl. Anyway, they kept on looking but Raiders sidetracked them so they got the hell outta here. Looks like they came back to search for a little while over there." She pointed in a completely different direction. We'd never thought about going "over there", I think Uncle Jesse called that direction "west"; we were going to head further down into the valley.
We walked toward the valley hoping she would pick up their trail. She guessed they could be a little more than 12hours ahead of us. We came up to a trench near a rock and set up camp. It was a sad sight to see compared to the warm and cozy comfort of her shelter. She got a small fire going and I tried my best not to cry again. The more I thought of Raiders grabbing my family because they were looking for me, the harder it was for me to contain my tears.
"Hey," she said interrupting my thoughts, "do you guys stay around here when it snows harder than this?"
"N-n-no," I replied through silent sobs.
"Little girl you gotta suck it up! Nobody was hurt or killed other wise you would've seen their blood in the snow, OK? Now a lot of people can't handle it up here when the cold season comes so they go down to the valley like your peoples did, stay near a Trade Post so they have provisions. That sound about right?"
Gloom and death fell back off the horizon. My head began to clear and what she said made sense. "Yes," I replied sniffling.
"I stay up here during the cold season because I'm prepared for it. I gotta get some extra things since it looks like I'ma have company. Just in case your peoples found some kind of shelter around here, we can look for them every morning during the cold season and I promise that after it passes, we'll go down to the valley and search for them there, aight?"
"I miss my Dad," I said and began to cry all over again.
"Yeah? Well I miss my Dad too. Now you got to get it together girl or you won't survive long enough to see your Dad again. It's dangerous out here and more so during this season." Then she looked at me and asked, "How tall is your father?"
"He's a giant! He's way taller than you," I said proudly.
"Great," she said rolling her eyes, "that helps. I need your necklace, Khyra."
"Why?"
"Because your giant father and asshole uncle won't stop looking for you. They need to know they're not searching in vain." I handed her my only physical connection I had of my mother. She took it with respect and headed out of the trench we were camped in. I saw her walk several feet before stopping in front of a rather large tree. She scraped some of the bark off the tree and began carving something in it I couldn't see from where I was squatting. She scaled the trunk of the tree but not too high and jumped back down onto the snowy ground. It was actually starting to snow again as she walked back toward me.
"What did you do?"
"Your mother will let your dad know you're OK."
I was relieved and for some odd reason, I knew exactly what she meant.
"We got to head back. And you're going to pull your weight. No freeloaders in my place."
I was happy to hear her say that. I was finally going to be able to help, I was just sad it was under these circumstances.
"Does that mean reading maps?"
"Yeah. That means reading maps."
Chapter 4
She kept her promise.
Every morning of every year, for seven years, we got up and went out to look for my family. We went down to the Trade Post in neighboring valleys asking and observing, trading and bartering, leaving messages with people we trusted hoping that my father would come through one day and know I was alive and in good hands -- hoping he'd be waiting for me. We knew he was alive, we assumed. One day, a month after we began our pilgrimage, we went to the tree and my necklace was gone. We followed a trail that eventually led us to a roving party of Raiders. She thought they'd taken it but I felt in my heart, I just knew, that my father had. The hope sustained me everyday I woke up in the morning -- Dad was looking for me.
The day was for searching and the afternoon was for training. She made me do exercises whether it snowed or not. She'd trip me, throw me, and flip me over her shoulder, all for the sake of "toughening" me up. When the season was nice and the land was green, the training was worse. At first, I was exhausted (and bruised) after our exercise sessions. Then one day I kicked her a lot quicker than either of us expected. A straight shot right in the ribs that, judging by the grimace one her face, hurt like all kinds of hell. We exercised but I was without a sparring partner from then on.
I also learned about her best hunting and fishing spots, how to cut meat -- after several vomiting incidents on my part, how to smoke meat, and my favorite, how to preserve. I read and counted to my heart's content. I collected all kinds of maps, books or whatever had words on it. I made calendars so I would remember my age. I even drew maps of areas I'd never been with my Dad so when I did find my family I could show them and teach them about these places.
She was a wealth of information. She taught me how to shoot with a bow and arrow for hunting: "Catch him in the jugular if you can. You don't want to use a gun cause you're wasting bullets and the meat will be tough. That's why people like the meat the Natives bring and me. It's not all buckshot and rough." She made us say a prayer to the "Ancestors" for providing the food and thanking the beast we killed so we could live. Most of the time the prayer quelled my crying but I never shot or ate bunnies. She taught me how to use that bow and arrow to defend myself: "If you have to use a gun use it for close combat. I'd prefer a knife or Kunte myself. But if you use your bow, catch that bastard right in the throat. He can't warn nobody but the devil." She told me so many wonderful and useful things.
She also told me about the bad, the evil that people do to each other. I understood why she was her very own one-woman clan; she was free that way. Everything in the world wasn't like it used to be, people trying to live with each other and be friendly. She told me her grandparents spoke of a time when we all tried as human beings. We still do but there are more that try harder to survive. There is a constant vibe of paranoia and suspicion that has clans joining other clans but not much mixing or sharing culture very often. When the Mega-Flu wiped out more than half of the planet's total population, many withdrew and decided the survival of their race would depend on merging with others of their "own kind". Instead of letting each group live in peace, propaganda was spread by unknown militant groups about dangerous Black Raiders and thieves, causing an already lawless land to kill innocent Black families, traders, and people who were lost and confused after the war. In turn, Blacks created clans that fought back and attacked anyone who wasn't Black or those who sympathized with an agenda that wasn't theirs.
She told me that even after the war there was much more killing by Earth's citizens, of each other. Eventually people realized that Raiders came in all shapes and sizes but it was too late, the damage on all sides was done.
The World Army still exists to "police" what it can. Major highways, certain urban areas, borders; many people will tell you that they are worse than the Raiders in most cases. Rape is still used as a weapon, the World Army Police might help you if they can but a there are a few times when they will turn a blind eye to get a piece of the action.
"America ain't the country it was when my parents were alive, little girl," she would warn, "your blonde hair and pretty blue eyes will not help you at all in a situation like that. When you see an opening with a dude, what do you do?"
"Kick him in the nuts!"
"Then what?"
"Be the ghost."
She told me horror stories. I don't think they were meant to traumatize me (although she did scare the crap out of me) but to get me to understand the gravity of the world I live in. We had fun on our mountain oasis but there was danger that lurked in the shadows. I couldn't take that for granted.
I was to receive a test a week after my 11th Birthday.
"I'm going away -- it's going to be for a while."
"You're not taking me with you."
"You know how to do things around here. You know how to track, look for your family in the morning… If you find them just put a plate on the table so I know nothing happened to you."
"Where are you going?"
"Try not to make too many fires during the day, there's enough smoked meat so you don't have to go the smokehouse. Put the traps down at night and you know how to arrange them when you leave the house, aight?"
"Why can't I go too?"
"It's very dangerous, Khyra, and you're too little." She grabbed my arms and looked me straight in my eyes. "If everything works out when I go again you can go with me. If it doesn't work out…"
"You can't just leave me alone! You have to come back! Or DON'T GO!"
"Stop acting up, little girl. Check it out, you have your calendars, mark off 30 days. I will be back by the end of those days. If I don't see you then that means you found your Daddy. Don't forget to put the plate in the middle of the table so I know nothing happened to you."
"What about if something happens to you?"
"Then your family got some place to stay."
"I don't want you to go."
"Khyra, I need you to be strong, OK? How am I supposed to trust you to keep my house straight if you're acting like this? I wanna know my house won't be burnt down when I come back. Man up, aight?"
"I'm not a man," I told her. I was almost inconsolable. A calm took over my young body that made me determined to not let her down. I "manned up" and assured her that I would hold down the fort until she returned.
The layout of her small compound was quite remarkable and effective. There weren't many sieges because of the system she created. Metal traps placed in varying positions kept unwanted company away from our front door. In the past, she informed me, she would come out to find the stump of a Raider who decided an ill advised sneak attack or on occasion the entire person would be attached. Most of the time, the person would be so grateful to be set free she'd never see them again. Unfortunately, there were those who wanted vengeance for their damages and, well, she made sure she'd never see them again.
There was a very important well that her clan built a shelter around making it look like an ordinary outhouse. She said that they'd consulted with an Apache dowser to dig the well right where it's located now. It was her mother's idea to build the shelter around it and until this day, it's fooled many a person. There's not much call for manners in terms of bathroom etiquette in the world I live in so those who actually made it to the cabin walk right by the most valuable thing there, a clean water source. The real outhouse (the shelter the sled rests against so I can tell the difference) is further away, not on the same "line" as the well. Closer to the cabin but elevated out of the reach of bears is the meat house. Anything we smoke or cure in someway goes up there -- we get to it by a ladder her father made. Underneath that is a trap door that goes down to a refrigerated pantry, a ladder is needed for that too. Nature cools the preserved fruits and remedies underground. So far we've had no bears discover that treasure either.
I didn't look for my clan while she was away. I couldn't. I was just too scared and the truth was, I didn't want to look without her. It was during this time that she'd tell me what she remembered about the time before me, about her family and she'd listen to me go on and on about mine. Even the stories Uncle Jeff told me, she'd listen intently. God help her if she asked me a question, that was at least two more stories added to the already long story I was telling. There was the occasional, "Quiet." I'd pipe down so quickly it was as if I sucked the words right out of the air. We'd stand there frozen in place listening for friend or foe. When it was determined safe to move I picked up right where I left off. I missed that very much while she was gone…
I'd developed a new routine so I didn't go crazy waiting for her. I laid the traps, stalked game -- beetles actually, practiced covering my trail, read my books, and studied my maps all within a 60-foot radius of the cabin. That was just the first two days. When I developed the courage to do more, maintaining the 60-foot parameter, time flew by before I knew it.
The 30-day mark came and went and she wasn't back. After day 32 I, in all my 11 year-old wisdom, decided that I would look for her. I looked over my maps and had no idea where to start but I knew I had to find her. Who was going to help me find my Dad? What if I was out looking and found my Dad in the process? My mind was abuzz with confusion but set on going out in the great unknown to find my only friend in the world.
Day 33, bags packed and ready to go, she walks in the door as if she never walked out of it. I was so relieved I thought I would faint.
"You moving or something?"
I ran to her and squeezed as tight as I could.
"C'mon, little girl, you're gonna break my ribs," she said as she mussed my hair.
I punched her in the stomach.
"OW! What the-?"
"You said 30 days! I counted!"
"Did I? I didn't say give or take some time?" she smiled. She was making fun of me and I didn't care, it was so good to have her back.
"I got you something too." She went through her pack and pulled out a machete. The handle was a beautiful dark wood; there were 11 "ticks" carved in it.
"Keep the proper count now. When your 12th comes along you carve that in yourself, aight? You can help me with the big game, cutting it up and everything. Then when we trade it you can get some profit and get yourself those little treats you like."
"And sweet oils?"
"What's the rule on that?"
"Only in the house."
"You got it then. Sweet oils. I'll even show you how to make some. But on your 12th. And we'll go into the city too."
The city! It was a big deal going into the city, a very dangerous very big deal.
Up here in the mountains and even down in the valleys we had our problems but we also had the land. The thing about Raiders, or anyone else for that matter, is they liked to stay in what they claimed as their territory. They would attack camps but if the clan got a head start on them, there was only going to be so far they would pursue. This is the reason why Raiders kidnapped, it added to the size of the Raider clan and it persuaded other clan members not to run for fear they would never see their loved ones again. Most of the time they wound up joining the Raiders. Another thing about being up here is the frequency with which one can acquire ammunition. If you're not in the Army Police you're not going to have the access that they do. People have guns but knives and clubs are the weapons of choice. Bullets are very expensive so people tend to use them towards taking down big game. Only when there is an emergency, like defending your family against invaders, or if you are the one invading will you hear gunshots. Except if you're in the city.
Ammunition is expensive in the city too but from the stories my Uncle Jeff told, and from what I could glean from her, people have the resources to afford it. If not, they make their own. It's a self-contained, self-sustaining place. The Army Police barely passes through the city, unless it's for recreation or when there are rumors of a coup. My Dad NEVER took us to the city and always warned about ever going there. Even Uncle Jeff, with all his bluster, looked quite weak and scared when he spoke about the city.
It was my 12th Birthday and we were heading straight for the place. She wasn't afraid, my scar faced super heroine -- not of the city anyway. Her concern was more on the route she chose to take. She began to have second thoughts about taking me but I reminded her that she promised and I was much better, after 3 years, with my self-defense skills. Besides, I had Marva. On my 12th as I carved my notch in the handle of my machete, I decided to name mine just as she named hers. I'd take it everywhere, this way my mother would always be with me, protecting me.
The road was always dangerous when you had goods you were going to trade and she had the goods. If you came across some corrupt Army Police they might take everything or Raiders who set up camps along the road would. There was always the possibility of running into Nationalists, be they Black or white or even Native tribes. She never seemed to have problems with the Native tribes and when we'd visit different Trade Post areas, the Black Nationalists left us alone. Of course she told them that I am Black -- a mulatto she called me… There was always one older Black woman who would look at me and shake her head in disapproval.
"I know that is a Pure D. White girl you got there," the old woman would whisper to her each time we came to trade.
"Why you always have to pick at me when we come in here?"
"Babygirl, I'm just saying to ya. She's young now but you can't bring her 'round here when she gets older. Besides which, you better watch your back cause she's going to stab you in it the minute she gets the chance. They're all the same young or old."
Since I'd been with her, I'd never seen The Aryans but she knew of them and treaded ground carefully when it came to them.
"You'd be alright," she told me once, "they'd kill me and raise you as one of their own." I thought when she told me, they'd have to kill me as well because I'd never go with them.
We had two sleds full of meat, preserves, skins and stuff in boxes she wouldn't tell me anything about. I had to drag meats et al, she dragged the boxes. I didn't know how we were to make it to the city with two sleds piled high with stuff but she assured me we would.
As day turned to night and we were still walking and pulling our sleds she stopped abruptly.
"Stay right here and don't move," she commanded. She disappeared behind a large rock and went down into a clearing surrounded by trees. I could also see that she was walking quite deliberately. She was walking around bear traps! She cleared away traps and the boughs, twigs, and debris mound. What appeared before my eyes left me in astonished wonder. It was dark, indeed, but I saw a truck!
As she hurried back up to where I stood guard she grabbed the sled and told me to follow her.
"We gotta do this quickly, Khyra. Load it up and roll it out."
My senses were on overload, I was excited beyond all measure. It was a secret mission and I was a part of it, an important part. I gained the strength of 10 men as I helped load the Suburban truck full of our goods. So this is how she was able to bring back so much stuff in such a short period of the time from the city? Now we'd be able to bring back twice as much because she had me to help her with the sleds.
She sat me in the back seat and told me to lie down. Only then did I realize the necklace she wore was the key to start the vehicle.
"Stay down, little girl. You can move a bit if you like but when you feel the truck slow down, you stay down and you freeze, aight? Do not move, do not peek, do not nothing, ya dig me?"
"Yes." I kept telling myself, I was on a secret mission and I was an important part of that mission. I was not going to blow it.
She went around the side of the truck for a few minutes. When she returned to the inside I smelled a hint of gasoline. Who was this wonderful hero? My best friend who had trucks and gasoline? Who was this wonderful person who takes me on a special mission to the city? She started the engine and we were on our way. I clutched Marva tight.
It was hard to tell how long she'd been driving; it had to be a while because she asked me to tell her one of Uncle Jeff's stories. I could tell over the years that she wasn't very fond of Uncle Jeff so I refrained from sharing his more "colorful" anecdotes. It was during a tall tale about bears that she stopped me.
"Freeze. Don't move, Khyra."
"Yes," I whispered.
I heard commanding voices, male voices. It was the Army Police.
"It's rather late. You traveling all alone on the road, uh, Miss?"
"Seeing how it's gonna be morning soon, some people would say I'm early," she replied.
"A fuckin' smartass? O'Riley, I think we need to check this vehicle -- thoroughly."
"Bobby, chiiiillll," the first voice said. "This the chick I was telling you about. Yo, Baby, what you got?"
"Sheeit, I shouldn't have shit cause your friend is disrespectful."
"Girl, calm it down. They just been stationed here, not as much action as they used to, ya dig? But I know you gots some treats that we CAN dig, right?"
"You know it, Bruh."
She got out of the truck and opened the back of the truck. I could hear boxes being opened.
"Holy -- is that mountain grown? My god, we can make a fucking bundle! Damn, I thought only the Indians got this shit. Bobby you've got to come see this!"
"Yo, Bob, man, stop sniffing around the truck and come check this out."
O'Riley and the "First Voice" were negotiating for some of the meat too. By negotiating, I mean they were telling her how much they would take. She'd planned for this theft and packed the "pretty good" cuts in hiding places. She said that they would expect us to hide the best cuts of meat, the best preserves, all the best in the nooks and crannies. But everything that is really the best you place in plain sight. No one will touch it.
Suddenly the tarps that kept me hidden were pulled off of me.
"What the fuck do we have here?" Bobby, a sweaty, shifty-eyed man with greasy black hair and hints of a moustache, was leering at me as if he found the grandest prize.
"Slim your friend is some kind of pervert or something?"
"What the-?" Slim (the "First Voice") looked surprised to see me, as did O'Riley.
"Why she's just a little girl," O'Riley said and began to turn very red. He continued, "I don't care how fucking good this weed is, and no offense Slim, but I'm not letting some Black pervert just…"
"No offense? So if she was a 'white' pervert we get our shit and let her roll?"
She became very angry, "If one of you limp dick muhfuckas call me a pervert one more time! Matter-of-fact, put my shit back in my truck cause I'm leaving!"
"Chill, chiiiillllll," Slim said returning order to the situation. "I know you cool so that's the end of this stupid shit NOW!"
"I'm sayin', Slim, this is like my daughter. We had been looking for her father. You wouldn't have happen to see any people like her coming through these parts?"
"She an Aryan?"
"No! I'm mulatto."
"Girl, you the lightest mu-"
"I'm mulatto," I said carefully watching Bobby who hadn't gone to the back of the truck when Slim told him to.
"OK, you a mulatto. I can dig it. Well just for the sake of answering a question, only, uh, mulatto folks I seen around here has been Raiders. The Aryans thought they'd try and test us -- they FAILED!" Slim laughed gales of loud barking laughter. He continued, "Yo it was funny though. Thought they caught the kid slippin'. And then there's these mulattos," he pointed to O'Riley and Bobby then laughed some more, "Right here. Those the only people. You should check some Raider camps, you never know. They are getting bigger these days. How old are you, mulatto girl?"
"I'm on my 12th," I answered not taking my eyes off Bobby who hadn't taken his eyes off me.
"Come help me with the stuff, Khyra." I could hear in her voice that she was watching Bobby too.
"I'd check the Raider camps," O'Riley said. He seemed to be satisfied that I wasn't being taken advantage of and happily loaded the contraband in the Police Jeep. His red hair and freckles danced as he looked at the bricks of weed.
"Mountain grown; and actual fresh meat. No more of that spoiled ground stuff. At least temporarily, huh Bobby?"
I started out of the truck on the side closest to Slim -- away from Bobby's leering gaze. Suddenly there was a hand on my head, pulling my hair and me in the opposite direction.
"The girl stays with us."
"The hell she does."
"Man," Slim said brushing Bobby off, "stop fucking around and get this shit in the Jeep."
"The girl is staying with us," Bobby said pulling me closer.
"Soldier, I told you she ain't no child molester! Now you turn over her daughter and load this fucking Jeep up and I MIGHT forget the fact that you being real insubordinate right now."
"Nah, Slim," she said as she pulled out a sawed-off shotgun, "this muhfucka is the pervert. Let her go." There was a look in her eyes -- I knew at that moment that she killed someone before. She would kill again.
"Holy shit!" O'Riley had his rifle trained on her. "LOWER YOUR WEAPON, MA'AM!"
"Red, stand down!"
"But, Sir, she-"
"I said stand down. Bobby, let that little girl go and I ain't gonna tell you that shit again!"
"Fuck it, we can smoke this bitch, take everything in the truck and keep the girl. She's probably going to the city to sell her anyway. She's a virgin! We can keep her for ourselves."
Before anyone could answer, I swung around out of Bobby's grasp. I remembered what she'd taught me, swung my leg with a full force round house kick to the nuts. As Bobby fell like a ton of bricks, I ran around the truck toward her.
Red thought Bobby had been shot, and to my horror, he'd drawn on her, ready to fire.
"NO!" I threw Marva as hard as I could at Red. She made a boomerang arc and connected with Red's bicep. He dropped the gun and hit the ground, writhing in pain.
BANG! Slim shot him dead. We both looked at Slim, shocked by what happened.
"I don't need no weaklings on my team. 'Sides, I ain't like that Black pervert shit."
"YOU BITCH! YOU-" Bobby was pissed. He jumped her so quickly Slim, couldn't get a clear shot.
They struggled on the ground, him on top pummeling her in the face, she blocking his attempts. The shotgun was out of her reach so I ran for it, planning to toss it to her once there was an opening. I saw him make a motion behind his back and realized he'd pulled out a very large shiny Bowie knife. He reached his hand in the air like he was grabbing for special power to fill this menacing blade before he plunged the blade deep and beyond her chest. I pulled the trigger before he got the chance.
I woke up with Slim standing over me so I pointed the shotgun at him and clutched tighter.
"Hey, hey now, Li'l Mamma, it's your buddy, Slim. Just chiiilllllll."
I began shaking uncontrollably but continued to clutch the shotgun firmly.