huffing and puffing and sweating slightly.
The group hears what sounds like music, various tones, the sound plastic
bottles make when filled with air and forced in close proximity to each other
in a net, or tied together. These tones are various, like some kind of drum
set composed of small plastic drums, almost tinkling rather than booming.
A series of houseboats are moored to the trees of a small island in the middle
of the slow-moving river. These are strung out in a line, a couple rafts
moored to the strong trees on the island, then other rafts moored to these, so
the lot stretches out along the center of the river.
Plastic bottles have been filled with air and either tied together or stuffed
into a net. These form a floatation device for plywood or rafts made of boards
crudely nailed together from the wreckage caused by the earthquakes and
hurricane force winds. The rafts are raised at least a foot out of the water,
more than enough floatation, the obvious consideration being that some of the
plastic bottles might fail, so more is better than less in this regard.
Some of the rafts have tents on them, some have one room structures made from
scrap lumber and tarps, and one is a two story rickety structure that looks
like it might fall over in a strong wind. Laundry is hung out to dry here and
there, on lines tied between boards nailed to the edges of the rafts and
whatever serves as the sleeping quarters in the center of the raft. Most of
the rafts have container gardens of some sort, plastic pots of various size
and colors, growing tomatoes or lettuce or chard.
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Fishing lines are hung from the rafts, trailing off into the river as they
draw downstream. The fishing lines reflects light, and so many of them are
strung out that it looks almost like a spider web with the rafts caught in the
center. A boy comes up to one line and starts drawing it in, pulling up a good
sized fish as he does so, and turns to take it to a wooden box nearby where he
knocks it on the head with a wooden mallet, killing it instantly.
Toddlers can be seen on the decks of some rafts, their watchful mothers
keeping them no more than an arm’s length away. Some are tied in a harness so
they can’t fall into the river. A woman is on her hands and knees at the edge
of one raft, washing her hair. Her hair is full of soap suds as she vigorously
scrubs, then dips a cup into the river to rinse.
Someone on the raft city notices the group on the bluff and points, calling a
notice out to the others, and waves at the group on the bluff. Some calls are
exchanged between the two groups, but the distance precludes anything more
than a vigorous wave and hello. Ian says,
They raided the recycling facility up at Middleton.
Red says,
Well . . they’re safer there than in these woods. . .
And no lack of fresh fish to eat!
Ian is standing beside Colonel Cage, looking directly at him with slight worry
on his face, an unspoken query. Colonel Cage glances quickly at Ian, reading
his mind, then returns his gaze to the raft complex, which is fascinating,
transfixing everyone in the troop.
They won’t be bothered, nor will those we left behind
at Bridgewater. It’s us they’re after, those from the
ranch. We know the location of his headquarters, and
he’s not ready for visitors yet. He means to kill us,
us from the ranch . . and anyone else that gets in the
way.
Colonel Cage motions with a wave of his hand toward the raft city while
looking directly at Ian again.
But this is no threat to him. And no advantage. Just
trash in the river, that’s how he thinks.
_______________________________
Fog is blowing in the very early morning along the river. Ian has just
wakened his traveling group, not letting them have more than a few hours rest
during the night. Ian is seen moving among the members, who are sitting up on
the ground and stretching. He is touching them on the shoulder, rather than
using his voice to announce that the march is to start again. Now that they
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can see where to put one foot in front of the other, he intends to have them
on their feet and moving again.
The group looks bleary eyed, as though they've just wakened and could use a
cup or more likely a full pot of coffee. No one is complaining, however, and
when one stumbles and drops something, the one behind helps them pick it up
and get adjusted with their belongings again. This group assists each other,
in a non-competitive way, and there is never a need to ask for this
assistance.
_______________________________
Ian, in the lead, stops the group behind him by raising his hand. There,
hidden by fog most of the time but visible when the wisps clear momentarily,
is a huge dull gray dome, several stories high. The dome doesn't reach above
the trees, but covers an area as large as a football field. Placed on a ridge
along the river, where there are trees on all sides and no ground above the
ridge, the dome could not be seen unless a plane flew over.
Several of Ian's group crowd around him, coming up behind him and staring at
the dome over his shoulders. They are all silent, staring, taking this in and
trying to place it in their concepts of what goes on.
Ian finally moves forward, the group straggling behind him. There is a large
space in the line between Ian and those following him, his assistants, and an
even larger space before the rest of the group follows. They are clearly
hanging back, not so far that it would be taken to be a lack of faith in Ian,
but far enough back that escape is possible. As Ian nears the entrance, the
entry doors splits open and slide to the side.
Several humans walk out, Jonah in the lead, extending his hand. Ian hesitates
only a moment, then himself walks forward with an extended hand. The group
following Ian noticeably pick up their pace, seeing a friendly welcome.
Just inside the dome city entrance, the newcomers are gawking at the raised
but diffusely lit ceiling and lush vegetation growing in the center of the
dome, where there is a fountain and grassy areas with children at play. The
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dome has housing units in a circle around the edge, several stories high, as
the dome drops down into the ground as well as rising up above the ground.
Tammy breaks the silence as she has been discovered by another little girl her
age. Tammy is clutching her rag doll, which by now is so dirty and tattered
that it almost looks like a black rag. The little girl welcoming her has a
clean cloth doll, similar in size and dress, and hands this to Tammy with a
smile. Tammy blinks, a hint of tears forming in her eyes at the kindness and