“I don’t know why you’re still trying to argue with me, when we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“And I don’t know why you aren’t man enough to do something about it.”
“Man enough to do what?”
“Anything.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Figure it out you idiot…. No, don't shrug your shoulders! And stop playing with that trash! Throw it away or something. Stop avoiding the subject.”
“What subject are we talking about?”
The bickering of the middle aged couple disturbs many of the people around them, trying to rest for the limited amount of time they have before they continue on their trek to the anticipated lake. Some in their frustration had yelled at the couple to shut up, but the woman would lash back with such a ferocity that onlookers would retreat with their hands raised not wanting to interact with the hot-headed woman any further.
The man is sitting against the trunk of a tree, twirling a rusted knife he had found, slightly buried in the ground, on that exact spot where he is sitting right now. The knife is heavily caked in a sort of orange dust color. The design of the blade seems similar to the American Bowie Knife, but the blade is shorter, and thinner, while also missing the signature serpentine piece of the Bowie Knife designed to protect the users hands. The leather bindings on the handle of the knife seemed to have fared a lot better, with only some minor accumulation of dirt and rust.
As the man continues to play with his new toy, intent on focusing on this new object, in order to ignore the nagging of the distressed woman, the woman continues to yell at him. “Not only were you a useless man when we were married, but now you want to see the kid?”
“I’ve always wanted to see the kid. You just wouldn’t let me.”
“OH– why would I EVEN let you near HIM?”
“Because I’m the father, and he’s my child. And I am paying five thousand dollars, monthly, in child support.”
“OH?! And that’s supposed to mean something?”
“Actually it does when you spend that money for alcohol and clothes and whatever you spend the money on. None of that money is going to our child!”
“That money is supposed to SUPPORT ME!” At this the man turns his head to face the woman, giving her a look of disgust and disbelief.
“That money is for the well being of MY CHILD!”
“As long as I, the mother, is taken care of, the child is automatically taken care of.”
“But he ISN’T taken care of. That’s why I went to court!”
“Well. You don’t have to go to court, so you can just drop it, AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!” The woman screams a high-pitched scream, her body focused on the task, her face scrunched up, her eyes tightly closed, and her mouth wide open.
Everyone around hears the outburst, cringing in their souls, exchanging glances with one another. They are already in a water crisis, journeying to the only source of water and two individuals are having a dispute over child custody! They’ve only crossed a fraction of the distance and some are already tired. Already having expectations of future exhaustion, many had gladly taken the rest with relief. But now this bickering has started to show the seams of just how fragile they might be. If they can’t be united in the common goal of just walking towards water what chance do they have at even surviving future hurdles?
Three men in uniform, having heard the shrill scream, come closer to the center of the conflict. Their radios bleep as the Sergeant yells through the radio, “What was that?! Sounded like a bitch screaming like a banshee! Over!”
The highest ranking among the three men, a Private First Class, turns to his own radio, and with an audible bleep of his own he answers, “We’re looking into the matter, Sergeant. Will report when we do know.” The man returns his gaze to the couple, looking at the blond woman, hair only slightly disheveled, long locks of blonde hair falling from the hair held up by a comb. The woman; possibly around the age of thirty, has high cheekbones which are slightly pink; possibly colored from makeup, with a flesh colored shine to her lips; also possibly a layer of lipstick or lipgloss. She could most certainly be called beautiful, even with the restrained anger with which she throws at the man with the rusty knife.
The Private First Class does take note of the rusty knife, but shows no other reaction, other than taking note of it. The man resting against the trunk of a tree, playing with the rusty knife has a Y shirt; dirty, with formal pants and shoes. The man is well-built for his age, also around the age of thirty, with a clean haircut, just only slightly disheveled. He almost has a somber look on him, one that shows a sort of calm yet aware look on him. He has an indifference to him, one that makes him feel as if he is taking note of his surroundings but disregarding some of the noise, as if seeking peace. Sensing no signs of aggression or threat from this man, the Private First Class ignores the possible threat the rusty knife presents, without entirely dismissing the possibility, while choosing to take proper note of the conflict.
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“Any problems here?”, the Private First Class asks, his name tag revealing him to have the surname of Bruno.
The man with the rusty knife looks up, and smiles, his smile holding some warmth to it, but his eyes reflecting the actual grimace behind that smile. “No, not at all. Just some arguing. Man and woman thing really.” The woman glowers at him, her face not expressing the anger, and only shooting rays of anger from her eyes.
“I see”, Private First Class Bruno shows no reaction to the response, only noting the meaning of it and accepting it as an adequate answer. “We’d appreciate it if you could keep the noise down”, he gestures dismissively with his hand, his arms folded, his stance conveying a level of seriousness. “We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, and we’d prefer if people could keep their stress levels at a minimum, as much as possible”. He then adds, “As well as being able to rest of course”.
The man with the rusty knife, with a still somber look, gives yet another smile, and nods once. The smile could almost be refreshing in comparison to his somberness. “I understand. We’ll… try to keep the noise at a minimum”.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Bruno’s gaze lowers once more to the rusty dagger. “Where’d you get that? Doesn’t look like something you’d normally be carrying around.”
The man looks down at the rusty dagger. “Oh… this? I found it on the ground. It was just laying there. I thought I’d pick it up and take a look at it later, if I found the opportunity to. I collect antiques.”
“Really?” Bruno’s tone finally changes from his indifference to someone vaguely interested, his voice finally showing some semblance of emotion. “So, like, you gonna ,like, examine it or something and see if it’s worth something?”
The man tilts his head from side to side, as if measuring the thoughts of the action itself. His words sound careful as he says, “Well… I would need certain tools and get the opinions of other experts, which I doubt I would have access to out here in the open. But yes”, he affirms, “I would try and see if it is worth something.”
Bruno nods slowly, his eyes acknowledging the man for the first time, listening, his mouth following his words as he says, “Ohhh… I see…” He collects himself and inquires at the man, “Are you the only one who found something, or have others been finding stuff too?”
“Others have been finding stuff too. One man found a torn piece of paper with illegible words on it. The language is like nothing found on Earth. Things like that.”
“Thank you.” Bruno, Private First Class, walks off with the two other soldiers trailing close behind him. After a few steps he turns towards his radio and with a bleep and says, “Sergeant, it’s Bruno. It was just a couple arguing. Just gave a warning, nothing else to report about that situation. However I have something else to report. People have been finding bits of trash here and there. Over.”
“Trash?! Why the hell would I care about trash? Over.”
“Well, one person found a rusty dagger and another found a piece of old, erm, ancient paper with writing on it. From what I hear the language on that piece of paper is not of Earth origin. Over.”
The 2nd Lieutenants voice interrupts through their conversation, “So evidence of civilization.” The words are more of a statement rather than a question. “Means that we might not be alone.”
The Sergeant’s voice booms out of the radio. “Everyone, you heard her. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.”
The 2nd Lieutenant again sounds from the radio, “Sergeant Hernandez, 1rst Sergeant La Fonte, did you notice anything out of the ordinary, such as finding these pieces of “trash” the civilians have been finding?”
The Master Sergeants voice answers the 2nd Lieutenant, “No. We didn’t find any of these items on our way to the lake and from the lake. Just a lot of claw marks.”
“Claw marks?” The question voiced from the 2nd Lieutenant expresses her confusion as she doesn’t understand what the Master Sergeant means. “What claw marks?”
1rst Sergeant La Fonte’s voice breaks through the radio, interjecting himself into the conversation. “There’s a whole shit ton of trees with claw marks all over them. They look closer to bear claws if you ask me. I mean I’ve never seen a bear before in my life, but the size of these claws… I’d think they were bears. You’ll start to notice them scratched into the trees as we get closer to the lake.”
There is only the tiniest of pauses before the 2nd Lieutenant says through the radio, “ Well… that’s not reassuring.” Another pause. “Well, now that we are certain that there are dangers in these woods everyone stay on guard. That’s it for now…”
Some of the civilians near Bruno have been listening to the conversation between the soldiers with apprehension on their faces. And they don’t really like what they just heard. Bears! And a whole shit ton of them, if the words “shit ton of claw marks” could emphasize the quantity of it. But again, they don’t have a choice. They know they need the water, and if going through bear infested woods gets them water, that’s what they are going to have to do. Besides, a gun is more than capable of killing a bear. And with two squads of soldiers all armed with weapons of modern warfare, a pack of bears wouldn’t stand a chance. This thought races through the minds of the people, who are desperate to have even a single bone tossed to them. The reassurance of modern projectile weapons with the men who are wielding them, as well as the desperate need of water, is just barely enough for people to push forward. Even in a forest full of bears.
The antique collector and his ex-wife are now silent, but the woman is glaring daggers at the man and the man is playing with the rusty knife, intent on ignoring the glare. They both did not hear the conversation from the radio, so intent were they in their conflict that they were oblivious to the change of mood spreading across the crowd, who are now whispering amongst themselves, despite the fact that they are supposed to rest for the journey ahead.
The soldiers alerted to the potential new threat start to scan around them, keeping their rifles ready to use at a moment's notice.