Chapter 3.5

CHAPTER 4

 

When Michael spoke of a surprisingly non-sophisticated society, he wasn’t kidding.

Mary was shocked. It was primarily the horse that shocked her, a somewhat scrawny brown coloured beast that somehow appeared contently miserable in returning her ogling expression. She was so focused on the item of her amazement that she barely heard the unshaven, rustic looking gentleman in the colourful poncho verbally abusing her, right up until Michael grabbed her shoulder and dragged her off the road.

“You were holding up traffic,” he whispered, noting the irritated fire in her eyes. “These people have places to be around here. There’s plenty of dirt road for pedestrians, so just keep clear.”

Safely out of the way, Mary looked back at the wagon. The previously infuriated wagon operator continued along the three metre wide dirt road, reaching breakneck speeds that were almost as fast as she could walk. She hadn’t understood a word he had spoken to her, his language a strange mix of mispronounced constants, overly drawn out vowels, and as far as she could tell, tongue clicks and movement of the sputum in the back of his throat. The misappropriated individual may have only been attempting to spit on her, but she was pretty certain she should be blushing at his vulgarity.

“Let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves, and avoid…horses in general,” suggested Michael. He didn’t look remotely annoyed, seeming to assume the demeanour of a guide rather than a Drill Sargent,

“What kind of place is this?” asked Mary. “It…doesn’t look very futurey.”

“Don’t let it fool you,” replied Michael. “That’s the nano-reconstruction bay right there.”

He was pointing towards a nearby horse trough. Mary gave him her best death glare.

“Kidding,” he said, innocently. “This isn’t the society that I am from, but they chose this style of living. I choose not to judge them. Anyway, the remaining survivors are accommodated elsewhere. Let’s go, or we’ll be late back.”

 Mary followed him, this time keeping to the side of the dirt track. Were it not for the claim that she were in the future, as well as the Spiderpal, of course, she would suspect that she had some travelled back in time.

Her’s and Becky’s cabin was located within a clump of vegetation that also encased a small hill, a unassuming path leading to it. Surrounding the hill was a small commune, and it was made up almost entirely of square, wooden buildings, not too dissimilar to the one she had awoken in. They were smaller, though, clearly intended for the use of only a single family, or less. Mary realised that for her and Becky the locals had provided the best abode they had access to. The town fit the feel of a medieval village, though it was clear that rather than drab, practical colours, these people had primarily used bright ones to decorate their clothing. The result was reminiscent of a hippy commune.

That made it easier for her to think of them as hippies.

Mary watched, in a semi-permanent gobsmacked state, as the local men and women passed her by without much more than a glance in her direction. She could hear their foreign language titillate in the background, mostly made of private conversations, though there was the occasional recognisable expression, like laughing, coughing or sniffing.

“My God…who are these people?”

“They’re people,” replied Michael. “Just people. I think in their local language, they call themselves forest folk, which really only differentiates them from the plains folk in the west, and sea folk. They are lucky. Tasmania isn’t a large place, and it’s fortunate that three tribes of people can coexist peacefully. But they’re only human, trying to make a living in uncertain times, like humans have been doing since before they can remember.”

“Where are the cities?” asked Mary.

Michael looked back at her. “There are none.”

Mary shook her head in disbelief. “I had expected progress in the future. I didn’t expect anyone to be existing in such simple affairs.”

“You make it sound like it’s a terrible thing. As I mentioned, these people chose this way of life. Believe me. Compared to some others, they are extremely progressive.”

“How so?”

“I’ll explain later. It’s quite a long story,” said Michael, mysteriously.

Mary continued to view her surroundings.  It was true to say that the locals seemed peaceful enough. Bustling about their daily duties without much interest in hassling or hurting each other, or even obvious strangers, such as herself. Mary’s hair, brightly blonde in colour, shone in the morning sunlight, and it very obviously distinguished her from the other women, who looked like they very rarely bothered themselves with shallow niceties like a brush, or shampoo. The women seemed not to notice her, but Mary became increasingly aware that the men were a different story.

As they passed what appeared to be a construction site for yet another timber abode, one man in particular gave her plenty of attention.

Mary blushed. He was maybe a few years younger than her, with tanned skin, and long dark hair. His eyes were oval, perhaps portraying a slight oriental lineage, and his shirtless youthful form was lean and muscular. He displayed an obvious grin which was clearly meant for her, and his bright, perfect teeth reflected the sunlight, making him appear angelic.

“I think he likes you,” stated Michael, with an amused expression. His comment shattered the moment, yanking Mary’s attention from the handsome stranger. She glared at him, feeling the urge to slap him.

When she glanced back to the stranger, he was continuing his labour, but she could see him shyly glance over his shoulder to her. Her cheeks flushed again.

“You man-eater, you,” teased Michael. He was watching the entire display with his arms folded across his chest, leaning back, with a slight smile, in the pose of a person observing two strangers engage in an embarrassing scene, purely for his own amusement.

“Guys just seem to like me,” she replied, nonchalantly. She knew the words sounded arrogant, but there was a purposeful inflection in that comment, which Michael didn’t seem to pick up on. Maybe if she were the girl she used to be, years ago, she might confuse the handsome boys’ attention for something deeper, but she could now spot superficial, meaningless lust a mile away. The young ladies man that ogled her was about as horny as they come, and it wouldn’t matter to him if she were a nice, gentle woman, a loathsome b***h, or mentally handicapped, provided she still looked as she did. Young, handsome males with that quality were a dime a dozen, and were never interested in more than a fun time. Feminine empowerment aside, it was never a nice feeling, for Mary, to realise that she was one out of millions of pretty faces, as valuable as the next piece of meat. For some reason, though, she felt she got far more than her fair share of that kind of interest, to the point where it constantly disappointed and frustrated her. Unfortunately, she also acknowledged it was foolish to wish for anything more.

Mary found herself drawing closer to Michael as he walked, especially after the attention from the stranger. Though he had frequently irritated her, she found his steadfastness, if nothing else, comforting.

She had to admit to herself, it was appreciative that Michael had brought them to this area, as she found the natural beauty quite stunning. As they meandered along the increasingly rocky dirt track, the region became slightly mountainous, but she could very clearly see the thick, pine forest surrounding the little town, which seemed to stretch as far as she could see, with the exception of a rather large oval shaped lake, which seemed approximately in walking distance.

Eventually, as they traversed over a slight rocky rise which continued about two hundred metres, she viewed another cleared section of the forest, this one containing farming land. She could see that the inhabitants seemed to be using a kind of permaculture technique, with a variety of plants tangled about in the one field, and no row-upon-row pattern. It seemed like a fairly advanced farming technique for an otherwise primitive culture.

The farm was also surrounded by thick forest, which only made the view wilder and frontier-like. There were only a handful of buildings in the cleared section.

Mary had walked the entire distance before realising that she and Michael had been more or less silent in each other’s company. She would have been concerned about that, thinking that he didn’t like her, but somehow it was not at all awkward, as much as comforting. There was something trusting about him, like he was happy with her as she was, and not interested in impressing her, or demanding he be impressed. She couldn’t remember being that comfortable with a complete stranger. It was almost like they were a natural team, and she could expect his assistance as soon as she asked for it, or even if she didn’t ask.

As they continued down the hill, it became clear as to which building they were headed. There were only two, and one was a barn. A timber homestead was their destination, this one looking decidedly less maintained than the ones in the village. Something about this seemed to sit strangely with Mary, and eventually she realised why.

“The farmer,” she mentioned. “Did he give up his own house for us?”

Michael looked back at her. With a jolt, she realised that during their walk, while she was distracted by the view, he had removed his woollen jumper, tying it around his waist and revealing his dark green, tight fitting t-shirt beneath it. He turned completely towards her, and smiled brightly.

“I told you they were accommodating!” he said, cheerfully. It was more obvious than she could imagine how much he was enjoying the walk. Almost as if he had never really experienced outdoors life before.

Not that his physique was any indication of that. She was struck by his adventurous looking pose, his arms held slightly more clear of his narrow hips as he walked, and she suddenly realised that his body was easily as muscular as the youth who smiled at her. It seemed the difference was a little surprising. Michael somehow displayed functional ability, his movements powerful, easy and graceful, like he was a natural sportsman. As Mary caught her breath slightly, staring at him, she realised that the youth was clearly flexing his muscles as he basked in her attention. He was simply a show pony. But Michael was an athlete, well-trained and skilled in graceful movement, though she had no idea why. She had a sudden image of him connecting with the environment, sprinting through the woods, swimming across streams, and hauling himself up mountains, a little shocked at how easily all of those activities seemed to fit him. Then she had an image of running beside him, laughing along with him, embracing the untamed pleasure of the wilderness, and she wondered if she had crossed the fine line over to fantasizing about him. 

He meandered off, oblivious to her attention, as he walked up the wooden stairs onto the patio. Mary stared at him, before following. As she neared his left shoulder she started with a soft gasp.

She hadn’t seen him at first, though he was sitting in obvious situ. Another man, lithe, with the same dark t-shirt Michael wore, and a buzzcut-like black crop of hair. He was seated on a wooden chair, leaning back slightly, clearly not threatened by her, or Michael. Mary’s first thought, looking at him, was that he looked Asian enough to be a Korean pop-star who had been offered a role as a hitman in some kind of hong-kong action flick. Tough, cold, no nonsense…and dangerous.

“Mary, this is Rodus,” introduced Michael, his cheer remaining. He was completely oblivious to Rodus’s overbearingly tough image. “Rodus…Mary.”

Rodus seemed to choose to ignore her additional company. He spoke directly to Michael. “The other two woke an hour ago. I thought I would wait for you.”

His voice was gravelly, and about as friendly as an alligator hiss. His face showed none of the concern that Michael had shown Mary when she first woke.

“Thanks. Are they inside?” Michael queried.

Rodus answered by rapping his fist on the flimsy wooden doorway which was the last obstacle to the remaining survivors. “Hey, morons! Get up and get dressed! Company!”

“Wow,” remarked Mary, in a quiet voice which she knew he could nevertheless hear. “You’re a prick…”

Her tone was cold, but to her the comment still felt largely observational. It seemed impossible that someone could be that demeaning by complete accident.

His eyes flickered, but Mary noted that her comment didn’t seem to annoy him. With a slight smile, he made a tipping-of-the-hat motion with his hand, seemingly thanking her for the compliment.

“We’ll talk later,” said Michael meaningfully. To Mary, it seemed obvious that Michael didn’t approve of Rodus’s behaviour, but was choosing to ignore it, for now. “Mary, after you…”

Mary took a breath. If she knew who was behind the door, and she was certain she did, she wondered if she was in for a tearful reunion.

She was right. The second she walked through the door, she heard a jovial Caribbean accent cry out.

“Mousey!!”