Cervia's Log - 34 Achiel, 1 AoC
Churlish scavengers
M
y trek has now turned mostly northward. Perhaps coincidentally, recent days have finally started to yield more signs of population. Like my first encounter, these signs haven’t been entirely positive.
Two days ago, I turned a bend in the beach and found another human – a man – walking directly toward me, some fifty-meters-or-so in the distance. It had been a while since my previous encounter and I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I was startled. The afternoon walk had me daydreaming after a fine breakfast of some squiggly flounder-type beast that I found burrowing in the shallows. I wasn’t entirely “on my guard” when I looked up and spied this man.
We both saw each other at almost the exact same time. And our reactions mirrored one another’s: We both froze. I had my hand on my staff/spear, and remembering the unpleasant tussle from days ago, I considered raising it to a ready position. But I thought better of it, realizing that it could manufacture a combat situation where one may not previously have existed.
He didn’t look much better than the first man I met. Haggard. Painfully thin. Weather-worn. He was utterly still.
I slowly raised my hand and offered a gentle wave, followed by a hearty, “Hello there!” And then I waited.
It seemed like we stood there for an hour. After some interminable period of time, I finally saw him start shaking his head. Then he smacked himself on each cheek a few times. Then he shook his head some more. I had no idea what to make of it. Finally, he turned his back and started trudging away from me, up the shore.
I gave a short yell. Assuming that it wouldn’t be violent, I wanted to have some kind of interaction with him. But as soon as I protested, he raised his hand above his head, without bothering to look back at me, and gave a dismissive wave of his arm. He then renewed the vigorous shaking of his head and noticeably picked up his pace, as he worked to put more distance between us. I considered trying to pursue him, but ultimately decided there was no way I could do it without coming across as aggressive.
The next day, I found another man on the beach. I could tell he was someone I hadn’t seen before, even though he looked every bit as bad as the first two I’d met. He was curled up under the shade of a huge tree and seemed to be escaping the mid-day sun of the open beach. I must have made some inadvertent sound, because before I could even determine whether he was aware of my presence, he jumped to his feet and started racing directly toward me.
The audacity of his assault was startling. I wasn’t completely shocked that he would attack me. After all, the first man I met on this planet did exactly the same thing. But it quickly became clear that he wasn’t trying to kill or maim me. He was trying to rape me.
It’s bad enough to be randomly attacked by a pitiful wreck of a man when you’ve done nothing to willfully provoke him. But I’ve never heard of men – even the most depraved and corrupt – whose first instinct amongst strange women is to rush them, jump them, and attempt to force themselves upon them. I mean – who does that??
He was very weak and, compared to the first assault I endured, I was in far better shape. So his ridiculous and depraved attempts were laughable in their impotence. The first time he lunged, I simply stepped aside. When he would not relent, I lowered my spear and made it clear, through the universal language of eye contact, that I was completely prepared to use it.
He lunged again, and I didn’t use the spear, although I figured I would be made to end this silly combat, by force, at some point. When he lunged a few more times, I finally grew tired of the sport and I drove my spike clear through the top of his foot. His scream was as pitiful as it was loud. He immediately crumpled to the sand and wallowed in the waves like a child who has endured a stern session with the belt.
I stood there for nearly five minutes. I don’t know exactly what I wanted from him. I didn’t understand why another chance encounter like this had to devolve, so quickly, into useless violence. He wasn’t even looking at me, and I had no reason to believe that any kind of real communication was forthcoming. So I left him in the surf and resumed walking down the beach.
My latest “encounter” happened this morning. It wasn’t a single individual, but a group. There were four of them and they were all men. They looked slightly better than the others I’d seen before, but all of them were far-from-polished.
This time, I saw them well down the beach. My previous meeting with the Sad Wannabe Rapist had the benefit of heightening my awareness. And I saw this group far before they had any chance of spying me on the horizon. Given that it was a party and I was already leery of this planet’s inhabitants, I decided on different tactics.
I walked up to the tree line and spent a good while hunkering down into a camouflaged position – one where I could still see clearly as the men approached on the shore. Although I was ensconced, I was sure to leave myself in an agile position. I was crouched – not laying down. Ready to spring forward if necessary. And my spear was in a handy position, freely available for defense, if need be.
As the men grew closer, I heard something I hadn’t experienced since crashing onto this isolated shit hole – conversation. Well, maybe not full-bore conversation, but definitely words. Thoughts. Modest dialog. They seemed to be foraging as they moved up the beach. And as they scanned their surroundings (presumably, for food), there was some sort of argument taking place.
They were speaking Komon (although their dialect was extremely difficult to follow), and their bickering went something like this: They had ambushed some other group in the forest a few nights ago – and it didn’t go well. Someone in their party was killed. Apparently, the survivors blamed the smallish man walking in the rear. He didn’t respond to their provocations, but their words were clearly agitating him. For a few moments, I wondered if I was going to witness them breaking out into open conflict right before my eyes.
They stopped almost parallel to me on the shore. The larger man in front spotted something in the surf and was intent on inspecting it. The others feigned an effort to help in his search, but they mostly just stood around and waited for him to finish. As they were loitering about, the small man in the rear looked up to the tree line and spent nearly 30 seconds staring directly at the bush under which I was concealed.
The length of his gaze made me certain he had spotted me. My heart thundered as I strengthened the grip on my spear and prepared to leap forward. But before any action could commence, the leader apparently finished his inspection and resumed walking up the shore. All followed, except the smallish man, who continued to gaze in my direction for at least 10 seconds. Finally, he turned back toward the beach and returned to his position in the rear of the group. It was at least 20 minutes before I gathered my wits enough to leave my impromptu cover and continue my journey in the opposite direction.
Tonight, as I was searching for a suitable spot to rest for the evening, I caught the distinct aroma of smoke. This sparked a small rush of excitement and anxiety. A campfire would indicate more men. Or, in a better scenario, a formal village of some sort. But I could see no light emanating from any direction deep in the forest. I walked back out to the surf and scanned the shoreline for any sign of a blaze, but there was none.
It could have been a settlement in the near vicinity. But it also could have been a sign that some distant part of the forest is burning. I have no idea which.
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