Foliage overload
Another reason I’m glad to stick to the river is it offers a break from the trees. The undergrowth isn’t too bad here, but between the trees and bushes it still feels very closed in. Even when I’m up on a hill, I rarely see any distance at all, and big clearings only happen once in a while. When the river’s running straight I at least get a reasonable glimpse of what’s ahead, but I want a better idea of where I am and whether there’s anything out there I should head for.
Which comes down to climbing trees. The problem is, if I fall, if I break a leg or an arm, I’m going to have to fix it. Any accident, no matter how minor, could be fatal. Even the little scratches could get infected, and I don’t have the least idea how to make antiseptic, any more than I can figure out where soap comes from.
Anyway, I’ve found a good tree. It’s a kind of pine, I guess. One of the really straight ones anyway, basically a pole with lots of branches sticking out, and if I can use the nearest rock to haul myself to the lowest branch, I should be able to climb up far further than I can on the trees which have lots of low, dividing branches. Time to give it a shot.
View
Okay, just a few scrapes and itches for that effort. And nothing much else. I could see a fair way, but it was all what I already knew – I’m in a lot of low hills covered by trees, and a river is winding through it. Still no sign of farmland or buildings, let alone power lines. I think maybe there’s an edge of water ahead. It could just be the river widening again and turning back, but it looked flatter in that direction.
Monday, November 26
Bleaurgh
Very sick. I tried a new fruit, a kind of orange grape (granges). Only ate one, and have been sicking up all afternoon, with the added joy of the runs. I think I’ll be okay, but life without toilet paper truly sucks.
Tuesday, November 27
Bad Night
I’ve made two really large (and very fraying) mats of bamboo leaves now. They’re not too hard to carry, rolled up and tied to the back of my backpack. At night I lie on one and completely under the other. It keeps a lot of the dew off, and might even help if it rained: it hasn’t rained at all yet, though it’s overcast a lot. Even though the mat’s paper-thin, it makes me feel safer to be under something.
Last night something walked right up to me, crunching a corner of my mat. I was feeling so awful anyway, and inside I just shrivelled, all while I held my breath and tried to be anything but a big Cass sandwich. For all I know it was a cow, more interested in my mats than me. It was big, heavy. I could hear it breathing, and the tiny sounds it made as it turned its head, right over mine.
And then it left.
I’ve spent most of today on a rock in the middle of the river, making myself feel warm and safe, and drinking gallons of water. I needed the recovery time from yesterday’s food experiment, but it’s not bad fruit that makes me stand hunched, cringing from something I didn’t even see.
I’ll sleep here tonight. I need to. But I know there’s no choice but to go on.
Mats
I’ve been fiddling with my mats, tightening them up again, and wondering how I could make a needle and thread to sew edges. I’d realised I could bend the ends back and thread them through the checkerboard of weave, which keeps them firmer, but mat maintenance is a big part of my day.
My scissors are already showing signs of wear. The kind of paper scissors which fit into pencil cases, even the Pencil Case of Doom, aren’t large or strong enough to pretend to be a knife or half the things I’ve been trying to use them for. The pencil sharpener also has a tiny blade in it, but I’m leaving that alone for the moment, and trying to reserve my scissors for things I can’t figure out any other way to cut. Perhaps I’ll make another attempt at whacking a stone knife out of the rocks.
Wednesday, November 28
Big Wet
There definitely is an ocean or a lake ahead. I keep seeing the light reflecting from the water, though it’s still too far ahead for more. Going to push hard this afternoon, to see how far I can get.
Nature abhors a square
At least, I can’t think of any naturally forming squares, except for the occasional odd-shaped rock.
There’s a big patch of water ahead. Ocean or a lake, not sure yet. The river’s still fresh, without any hint of salt. And to the right, far along the shore, are white, square things. Buildings.
No sign of smoke or power lines or roads or anything but a few whitish squares among the greenery. But this changes so much. Someone made those squares, and although they could be hostile or gecko-men or whatever, it means I’m not the only intelligent person on the planet.
I can barely sit here writing this. I want to run all the way there, I want to scream for help, I want to see a plane fly over, I want it all at once.
I think I MIGHT get there by tomorrow afternoon. I’m definitely going to push as hard as I can, the rest of today and tomorrow.
Thursday, November 29
Water Walk
I’m nearly at the buildings, and should reach them in plenty of time before sunset, though I’ve yet to decide whether that’s a good idea or not.
The lake is enormous. I seem to be walking along an outflung arm of it, and can see a huge expanse beyond the hills directly across from me, so large that I can’t see the far shore. It’s very cool and still, clear like green tea, and the banks all pebbly. There’s these birds which keep flying low across the water in pairs, making the most amazing noises, drawn-out wails. I’m glad I didn’t hear that for the first time in the middle of the night.
There are dozens of buildings. And they’re old. And obviously empty, with plants growing in all the wrong places. I’m following the shoreline along a road made of white stones which have been set neatly in the ground. It’s broken apart in places, where tree roots have lifted the stones, but otherwise it’s survived well. There’s even what I think must be mile-posts every so often, though whatever is chipped into them is so old and worn I can’t tell if it’s any kind of script I would recognise.
The buildings are white and blocky, with arched doorways. Most are only one or two stories, with flat roofs, and make me think of Greece, of those pictures of seaside towns. They stretch over the hill, and I think they must continue along the main shore of the lake.
My feet aren’t happy with me for walking so hard all day, but I’m going to press on while it’s still light. Just to check what’s in the buildings, and to see if there’s more over the hill. There might be some with people in them. There might be another, occupied settlement.