A Chain Is As Weak

I was very uneasy about the new guy.

He was neurospicy. That, in itself, is certainly not a bad thing – I’m neuroseasoned myself, and my husband is definitely ensconced in the Scoville Unit area of neurospicy – but there are certain combos that scream Will Not Survive in a Post-Apocalyptal Environment.

If he’d chosen to stay inside the enclave, and contribute in other ways, that would have been fine. But he rather loudly insisted to be part of one of the hunting teams. All the other teams got to say no, but not ours. I’m not sure why, though I have suspicions.

Twice we drugged him well enough that he missed our forays. Twice more, we simply tied him up when he arrived before we left.

This time, one of the echelonian higher-ups came with us. Fine, he’s your problem now. And I was determined to make that stick, no matter what.

Fine.

Ghillie up, boys, we’ve got hunting to do.

The main exits are guarded and watched (by us, as well as what’s outside), so we usually use a small gate near the water supply. One of the infrastructure peeps lets us out, there’s like six or seven layers of security down there. But the game gathers at watering holes, and our water is rather clean. Why waste time tramping around, exposed, when we can let the natural features bring game to us?

Electronics are forbidden outside. No walkie-talkies, no mics, no precious cell phones, what few still work. Everyone knows the creatures are now sensitive to electronic signals. Enclaves are small for a reason. Food is a high priority.

We took the game trail single file. I was in the lead, as befits team leader. I have the most experience, coming from a deep country hunter-farming background. Most of the team only learned what they know based on stupid movie tropes, so I’d insisted early on that there would be training before we crossed any gate. My archery team was pretty good now. The firearm team… Well, they’re only with us for preventing an attack, not hunting. Equipment includes precious ammo, and they knew enough to fire only if they actually witnessed something attacking us. “Whites of their eyes” and all that. Otherwise, don’t bother coming back, you’re toast.

We gave the new guy bird blunts. None of us trusted him with a weapon that could actually hurt us. Effective to buy him some time, so he could retreat with us.

Geese were bad enough in the before-times, man, but now they had teeth! And were carnivorous! Sucks to be us, some days.

I did hear some muffled noises occasionally, but each time, there was a sudden thwack that preceded silence. Good. It’s about time someone recalls we took training courses, and what was drilled into our heads from the very beginning.

I held up my arm, hand making a fist. Instantly, the column stilled – except for one, of course. I didn’t have to look to hear him run into the person before him, and I heard the intake of breath before another thwack shut up the incipient piss fit.

Good. I wanted to live through having a fool thrust upon us.

Over the hill was the pond. Half natural, half dug out a bit, it was an excellent place to spot game. Why the rest usually went the other way, where the creatures could see you coming, and retaliate, I’ll never know.

I peeked over the rise.

A beautiful buck was standing there, drinking.

I did hand signals. The team fanned out, as trained. Archers took their proper formation. The gunners also fanned out, but behind us, facing the other way. If there was a counter-attack, or a pack of something trying to take our kill, they’d be out-fanged. Hopefully.

New guy was put in the gunner line. He sulked. I made the “watch” sign at Mister Echelon, and made a gesture yowards the idiot that was rather unmistakable, even to a newbie. He huffed, but that’s all the noise he made. Fine.

Everyone in position. Arrows nocked, aimed. I signaled a count…

Thwip. Thwip thwip thwip.

The buck went down. Two perfect throat shots, one heart shot, one eye shot. That’s my team!

We archers went to work quickly, while the gunners shifted position to cover all directions – including the lake itself, which likely had something nasty living under its placid surface. Innards and offal were no longer safe to eat, considering all the crap we’d dumped in the atmosphere during the wars. We field dressed near the bank, hoping whatever would track the blood scent would stop and take the easy stuff. And something would, for sure. Soon. Maybe already watching.

This would likely have been called an elk in the before times. It was huge, and would feed the entire enclave for a few weeks. Fangs for days, and a few extra vertebrae, and claws instead of hooves. Antlers were razor sharp; I would like to see if I could make a weapon or two out of them. There were even some strange nubs, like it was trying to grow an extra pair of legs for the vertebra. Creepy-looking, though they tasted the same. Some scientist said he did regular testing.

The enclave doesn’t get much fresh meat, except from us. We are the only consistent team with both accuracy and safety, mostly due to my extra training I insisted on giving them. And we work fast, knowing what’s out here. We’d just slid the hastily-constructed pole through the tied legs, to hoist the sling, and I was turning to signal the rest to for up, when it all went wrong.

Dipshit’s bow went up. “Lookee, a goose! I’m’a gonna get it!!”

That blew it.

We didn’t even bother forming up. We grabbed our kill, slung up, and took off. If he followed, if Mister Echelon followed, we didn’t care.

We heard hissing. We heard honking. Then screaming. Then gunfire.

We took up a formation of sorts. Gunner in the rear, facing backward, sweeping for threats, knowing that one of them may be Mister Echelon or Idiot Kid.

As they used to say, we booked it.

No, I’m not going to risk my life, or the lives of my whole team, for two stupid morons that can’t follow the rules.

You can’t really run on game trails, in the gear we’re in. But we did the next best thing. We hustled to get back home with kill, lives, and gear, intact.

We listened intently for hisses, or honks. Were they following us?

The screaming faded. There hadn’t been any shots fired in a little while.

There’s the gate.

Protocol. I’d drilled it into everyone. We approached the enclave wall, archers first, gunners encircling us. My hands were shaking, but I tapped out the code on the metal, just enough to be heard on the other side. I heard locks being unlocked, got out of the way. Those with the goods went in first.

One of the gunners sucked in a breath, and I turned around.

Pairs of geese were flying down towards a disturbance near the pond. A little dust, some bushes shaking, lots of thrashing. Dear God, those things look decidedly unnatural now. Extra long necks, double the size they used to be, pelican sized birds with a cobra for a neck. Fangs. Did I mention venomous?

Four left outside – three gunners, and me. One by one we slipped inside.

Up to our gear room, out of our ghillies. Two of the girls were picking up the sling to take it to the kitchens when another of the echelonians came in. “Where’s Jerry? And Tony?”

Before I knew it, I’d grabbed his sorry carcass, and was slamming him into one of the lockers. None of my team pulled me off, which says something.

When he was pre-tenderized, I decked him.

Then I stepped back, and waited for him to get up. “Here’s the deal, you jackass. Two people foisted onto my team, the team that feeds you and your no-blood-on-your-hands buddies. You make the rules in here, but I make the rules out there. And those two morons broke the biggest rule of all, plus a bunch of others. And by now they’re dead. If they’re lucky, because geese are known to take half-alive prey back to their dens for snacking later. Because you idiots insisted you knew better than me.

“So, new rules: I will now have a seat, and say, in Council. I will train all the hunting parties. And I determine who goes out, and when, after they prove they’re trained for it. The person who insists otherwise will immediately be tossed outside with no equipment. And anyone, anyone, who tries to mess with our team ever again, just because we happen to have boobs, will get thrown to the wolves. Literally. Do I make myself clear?”

Mister Echelon nodded. I grabbed him by a collar, leaving some bloodstains on its starchy whiteness. Who even has time for that crap nowadays? “Great, glad to hear it, we’re going to go tell them now. Because any person who jeopardizes my team, ever again, will live to regret it. Maybe. Or maybe we’ll find out what’s in the lake by throwing them in it. Either way, I’m done with your stupid politics.”

And I dragged him out.

Later, when my Shiny New Title had been announced, I was lounging in the team’s locker room. The other hunting teams had been notified, and a lot of them had come to visit, eager to learn. That was gratifying. At least two foolish deaths would not become a total waste.

My second was teaching them how to walk Native-style, toe-heel toe-heel. On the paths, with our lighter shoes, it gives less away. Dad taught me, and he’d learned from his grandfather. Both lost in the stupid political wars. Miss ya, Dad.

One team leader approached, a bit hesitantly. I eyed him, and he saluted. I returned it, but not crisply, as a signal to how things would be under my command.

He sat on the bench aside of me. “Did you really survive a goose flock attack?”

“Technically, they didn’t attack us. They attacked two morons who wouldn’t listen to training, who then died for their stupid. I wasn’t going to risk the rest of my team for their idiocy.”

“Can you teach us? Please?”

“Sure can. Now, the first rule, that rule that can’t be broken..”