----------------------------------------
The party stared one at another, Lars still rubbing his face, Sano still patting her clothing into place. They heard six quick shots, then a pause, followed by another six quick shots, the thunder of a heavy caliber revolver: kaboom!
After the second round of six shots, there was a longer pause, wherein they heard a faraway voice, unintelligible, answered by the unmistakable good cheer of Umezawa, who was saying, “No, I am not going to shoot right at your head!”
“What the…” Lars began. He zipped up his outer shell and charged through the entryway. Shortly thereafter, James Thurgerson, Blake, Abe, and Sano piled outside to find Lars in hysterical laughter while, about fifty yards away, Jason was demanding that Umezawa take aim at his head and pull the trigger, with Umezawa steadfastly refusing to do so.
Lars gathered himself together and said, “At first, Jason hid behind a boulder and had Ume shoot overhead. When he discovered what power it actually is that allows him to stop bullets, he demanded Ume shoot right at his head.”
“No way,” said Umezawa. “Nuh uh, no freaking way. I am not about to be the one to pull the trigger in a superfluous experiment. What if he forgets to throw up the force field, or what if it doesn’t work just the one time?” A sudden realization washed over his face, and he quickly stooped down, picked up a rock, and whipped it at Jason.
“Wow, that’s quite a shot, at fifty yards,” Lars quipped, then his jaw dropped open. They all witnessed it: the rock was proceeding to its destination, Jason’s nose, at a fair pace, on the downward trajectory of its arc, when it suddenly stopped proceeding forward and continued its slavery to gravity, dropping to the ground as a harmless artifact.
Blake pulled his own pistol and fired down the range, a full barrage, nine shots without pause, and they all saw it: what appeared to be mosquitoes from that distance, stopping and slowly losing altitude until they bounced to the ground. They also noticed that Blake had shot slightly to one side. “He was never in danger,” he sniffed, “at least not from me. But here: whoever has a gun, aim to the side or high, or whatever, and let’s see how much he can stop.”
Abe, Lars, Umezawa, Sano, Blake, and James Thurgerson, all six of them, fired a barrage in the general direction of Jason, who stood there with every confidence, unafraid, and they all saw the mosquito dance again. Lars and James Thurgerson ran to Jason, shouting in excitement. Abe saw James Thurgerson put the muzzle of his pistol directly against Jason’s head, not pulling the trigger, but saying something that made Jason laugh. Lars was stooping, collecting the bullets for examination.
[https://embodimentandexclusion.files.wordpress.com/2023/08/chapter-14.jpg]
“Will you look at that?” he said to Blake, as the rest of the party joined Jason. He held out the palm of his hand where he had several bullets, or the remains of the bullets, resting. They were in various degrees of flattened, according to their weight and composition. “Just like being fired into a cube of ballistics gel,” he said. “I figure that the force field starts right adjacent to his head or his neck, or something, like, resting in one of his big glands, and it projects outward in a sphere about five yards.”
“Yep,” said James Thurgerson. “I was seven yards away from him when I shot at you, basically point blank.”
“How do you do it?” Blake said.
“Magic,” said Lars.
“Technology,” Blake said.
“Oh, it’s definitely technology,” James Thurgerson said. “I can answer that to a certainty. But you have to remember that the pressurized closed-capsule ink pen was considered magic when it first was invented.”
“We already had that discussion,” said Lars.
“Oh,” said James Thurgerson.
“And I don’t care. What is technology but a kind-of harnessing magic, anyway? We look at a lightbulb, all proud of ourselves because we invented it, what with our brains and economy and all, but we never stop to think of just what it is that an inert gas, a peculiar metal filament, and electricity are, vis-à-vis a Merlin the Magician conjuration of the same thing, only bypassing the factory.”
“I’m hearing you say that it’s technology,” Blake said.
“I’m saying it’s a super power, which is neither technology nor magic,” Lars said.
“It’s technology,” said James Thurgerson. “It’s all nano, but it’s still tech.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“All right, geniuses,” Lars said. “Then explain to me why it is Jason has this one and Abe has this other one with the trees, but no one else has—”
“Oh,” said Abe. “And someone has healing.”
“Really?” said Umezawa. “We have a healer? Must be Sano.”
Sano giggled prettily.
“Why?” said Lars, “Because she’s a girl? And girls should be nurses with a healing touch and sweet, sweet, citrus breath?”
“And figure-hugging uniforms, with those lovely white tights that look like love in the night?” James Thurgerson said.
“Lars! Jim!” Blake said.
Umezawa looked hurt. “No, but, because, well…” he stammered. “Yes, I guess you’re right. It’s just that I…you’re healed?”
Blake pulled up his torso layers for a second or two before he shivered and covered up again. The party, except for Abe, gaped.
“It has to be Sano, then,” said Umezawa. “She was attending you the whole night.”
“Well, now, wait just a cotton-pickin’ second,” said Lars. “I’m the one that stuffed his stuffing back in.”
“Yeah, but you’re ugly,” said Umezawa.
Lars laughed and rolled his eyes. “Well, I declare…” he said.
“Besides which,” Umezawa continued, “Sano is so much younger than the two of you. She belongs to one of us.”
Sano’s eyes grew wide.
“She belongs to you?” Lars said.
Umezawa looked at Sano and blushed. “That’s not quite what I meant. She’s a coeval. She belongs to us in the sense that you’re old and ugly, and she’s young and pretty.”
“Pretty, yes,” said Lars. “Young? I think not. She’s my age.”
Sano spoke. “And how old are you?”
“I’m somewhere between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five,” said Lars.
Jason laughed and said, “Listen, old man, why can’t you just say fifty?”
“Hey, punk, it’s because I represent a demographic in that age range, and that’s just what I’m arguing. Sano is about fifty or I’m a monkey’s alcoholic relation.”
“She’s a teenager, you dirty old man!” Abe said.
“What kind of internet do you watch at night, I wonder,” Umezawa said.
“Hey now,” said Lars. “It’s the blue eyes, you little squirts. She’s got you Nipponese boys all screwed up inside because she lays those crystal-clear eyes on you and you three just melt away to nothing. Me? At least I got something solid to keep me standing on my own two feet without being reduced to a drooling ol’ hound.”
“Oh, you’ve got something solid, all right,” said Jason. “a solid BM to tell your doctor about.”
“Hmph,” said Lars, looking askance at Sano, stifling a rebuttal. “Not quite appropriate for youngsters and ladies.”
“I know what you were going to say,” said James Thurgerson.
“Now, now,” said Blake. “We’re a team, not the Dating Game. Survival instincts and all—discipline yourselves, or we’ll die in short order. As for me, I want to show these jokers who’s boss. I don’t want them to have the victory over me out here when we can perfectly well keep each other alive.” He turned to Jason. “You have a pretty good idea how your powers work?”
“Yes,” said Jason.
“Good. We’ve taken a tremendous risk with the noise, and we’ve used up valuable ammunition on this experiment. How many rounds did we send downrange? A hundred? We might regret that, but the expenditure was probably worth the knowledge. Let’s get that bear processed and some more of it cooked.”
The party set about in cooperative efforts, going off in teams of two or three to gather wood and stones, and anything interesting or useful, taking a general survey of the lay of the land, and so forth. They were taking note of what they were learning about hills and hollows, certain boulders, alternative copses of spruce trees, birch trees, wildlife sightings, paths of approach, thickets. Most importantly, they found a spring of water, active in midwinter. It was a fair distance away, but not so far that it was more than a chore to maintain a water supply for washing and cooking and drinking.
Umezawa and Lars finished scraping the bear hide, and they hung it in the shadow of the grove for curing, stretched among several trees.
Abe watched Blake grow stronger as the day waxed on. He felt himself flagging as the sun skirted along the western horizon behind them. He forced himself to eat more of the bear meat, but he was first to turn in for sleep.
After a vivid dream of threat and escape and continuing threat, he slowly awakened, shivering and sweating at the same time. When he became aware that he was no longer asleep, he realized a fever had him. He tried to rouse himself, but the pain in his shoulder was preventing any kind of purposeful movement.
Come on, Stoic. You can’t die first, not with those dainty feet still depending on you. Get up! Get Lars! Tell him your hurts!
With a great effort, pouring sweat into his clothing, Abe rolled himself onto his right hip, stretching his right arm in front of him as far as the wounds allowed, so that he could reach with his left arm to awaken Lars.
“Lars,” he said. “Lars!”
Lars woke up with a start. “Hm? What is it? Who’s there?”
The glow of the fire was good enough light to see each other. “Lars,” Abe said. “I’m in bad shape. Look at me. I think I’m dying. And I’m thirsty. Thirsty as hell.”
“Thirsty as hell? Why, look at you…” Lars put his hand on Abe’s forehead.
Calloused. Not at all like Sano’s young hands must feel like. Cool, though. Calloused and cool. Sano’s hands are probably soft and warm.
“Fever,” said Lars. “You’ve either caught the flu or developed an infection in that wound, despite all our changing it out.”
Abe shivered.
“Yeah,” said Lars. “Can you hold on through the night? Here, wait a second.” Abe heard Lars rustling through his pack, then the unmistakable foomp of a cork coming off a whiskey bottle. He heard the glass tap a metal cup, a little gurgle of liquid, then he saw through the shadows Lars’s hand delivering the elixir to him. “Here,” Lars was saying. “Kill that off in one swallow, why don’t you?”
“Not exactly the elf lord of Season Three Episode One,” Abe said, trying to summon the courage to drink hard liquor.
“You know, you’ll have to tell me how on earth any of The Morose Alpaca qualifies as Josei.”
“The manga!” Abe said, and that was all he needed to swallow the whiskey. He coughed.
“Good man,” said Lars. “Now glug this water; otherwise that alcohol won’t do no good at all.”
After drinking a large volume of water, Abe felt warm and hot and cold at the same time, but a little sleepy.
“Yeah, a fever is good for you, in moderation,” said Lars. “Let it run for the rest of the night and we’ll see where you are in the morning.”
With that, Abe fell asleep, his mind picking up the dream where it left off. After a while of running from endless dark and impersonal enemies, Abe woke up again, still in the orange glow of a tended campfire, still cold and sweating, and moaning.
On his other side, Umezawa stirred. “You all right, buddy?”
“I’m pretty sick, Ume,” said Abe.
“Huh,” said the jolly young elf. “Sorry to hear it. What’s bothering you?”
“Infection fever and bizarre dreams.”
Umezawa stretched his hand to feel Abe’s forehead. His hands were soft and warm. “Yeah, you have a fever,” he said. “Want me to stay up with you? Do you need anything?”
“A drink of water.”
Umezawa stirred himself up, shivering against the cold, reaching for a container of water, which he then handed to Abe, who drank it all. “You’re going to have to pee like crazy in the morning,” said Umezawa.
“The horror,” said Abe. “I’m going to try some more sleep.”
“Good night,” said Umezawa, and he settled himself under his clothing, rolling over to face away from Abe.
Moments later, the fever broke. Abe fell asleep instantly, and, without dreams, he slept the rest of the night, and when he awoke, there was no pain in his wounds.
----------------------------------------