… civilization is the villain in environmental thought, which is why the radical Earth First! battle cry is “Back to the Pleistocene,” that is, back to a time before agriculture and cities—in short, before Iron Age civilization began …
—Bruce S. Thornton, Plagues of the Mind
YUCATAN PENINSULA FUTURE TIME
It was approaching sundown when they emerged from the pyramid into paradise.
“It’s perfect,” Vince said, spreading his arms, walking into the meadow that was the front porch of the pyramid.
Marissa, Reggie, Latoya, and Wings ran deep into the meadow, chasing butterflies, picking flowers. Whitey followed Marissa around, interested in whatever pleased her. Jennifer and Valerie stood by the entrance, ready to dart to freedom, until Vince waved them away with his rifle.
“Hey, there’s a note,” Reggie said, pointing at the wall next to the exit.
The note did not belong in Vince’s new world and he tore it off the wall. It read:
GET AWAY FROM THE PYRAMID BEFORE SUNDOWN BECAUSE IT IS GOING TO GO KABOOM. BIG KABOOM!
“Everybody, this way,” Whitey shouted.
The women complied, following Whitey to where the village had been. Flustered, Vince hurried after them, fuming because his place was in front. There was no discernible village,
just occasional stones still showing the marks of tools. Vince shouted for Whitey to stop.
“This is far enough,” Vince said.
“Not for me,” Whitey said, starting off again.
“I’m in charge,” Vince said.
“Yes,” Whitey said. “And as leader you should understand the kill radius of a twenty-megaton bomb.”
“That bomb is on the moon,” Vince argued.
“I’m not taking any chances,” Whitey said, jogging away.
Only Reggie hesitated, hanging back as the others raced into the forest.
“We better make sure they don’t get into any trouble,” Vince said.
Nettles tore new wounds in Vince’s leg as they ran. They climbed down into a gulley, Whitey helping others in treacherous places. When it was Vince’s turn, Vince slapped away Whitey’s proffered hand. At the bottom Vince ran past the milling women, starting up the other side.
“Wait,” Whitey shouted, studying the sky. “It’s safer down here.”
“It’s a nuclear weapon, Whitey,” Vince said, trying to regain dominance.
“Yes, but there’s no time to get anyplace safer.”
Vince never got a chance to argue. A bright flash startled everyone to silence, followed by the loudest sound any of them had heard. Now chunks of stone rained down, taking out limbs and pulverizing trunks, setting off chain reactions of falling trees. One-ton stones were buried in the soft ground, creating impact craters, ejecta spraying in all directions. Three large stones landed in their gulley in quick succession. Reggie jumped up to run, but Whitey tackled her, wrestled her down and then covered her with his body.
There was a bright shimmering light shooting toward the heavens. Vince cowered in the gulley, awestruck at what he had unleashed. A minute later the light disappeared like the beam of a flashlight switched off.
Reggie was crying, Whitey comforting her. Now Valerie
and Jennifer joined them, then Marissa. Soon his whole community was in a group hug.
“Let’s go,” Vince said. “We need to find shelter before dark.”
“But Vince,” Marissa said. “Don’t you know what this means? Without the pyramid we can’t get the others here. We can’t even get supplies.”
In his anger over the usurper, Whitey, Vince had forgotten his plan to bring others to this future. Worse, he had planned on using the pyramid as a continuing source of supplies. Still, he had the future he wanted and enough women to keep him happy.
It was getting dark, so they climbed up out of the gulley, and then looked for a place to sleep the night. Whitey talked the others into climbing into trees; Vince finally copied the others, spending an uncomfortable night wedged in the fork of a tree limb.
Vince regained some control the next day, taking the lead. They wandered east, Vince projecting confidence he didn’t feel. The terrain was rugged, but sloping down gradually, the downhill walk Vince’s primary reason for heading in that direction. There were monkeys in the trees. Many birds and occasionally larger animals could be heard crashing through the forest. Eventually, they came to a meadow with a stream along one side that emptied into a small lake. By now everyone was exhausted, hungry, and covered with insect bites, the natural life losing some of its appeal.
Vince declared the meadow their new home, directing the building of a shelter. They had few tools to work with, making do with two knives. It took them two days to erect a lean-to with a palm frond roof. They set it up against a rock wall, and then drove pointed stakes into the ground all around to keep predators away. There was barely enough room for all of them to get under the shelter that night when they were hit by a downpour. The roof leaked so badly, they were soon as wet as if there had been no roof. Come morning, everyone was shivering.
Vince sat under the still-dripping roof, watching the others work. The women had fanned out in pairs, looking for food. Whitey was on his knees with Marissa, trying to start a fire. Whitey had carved a groove in a chunk of wood, and was rubbing a smaller stick in the groove. Marissa started chanting.
“Go, Whitey, go! Go, Whitey, go! Go, Whitey, go!”
Whitey was red-faced from the exertion.
“Go, Whitey, go! Go, Whitey, go! Go, Whitey, go!”
“Everything’s too wet,” Vince said.
Whitey kept up his exertions.
“We gathered twigs and moss from under the trees,” Marissa said. “It’s really dry.”
“Stop wasting your energy,” Vince said, irritated by the defiance.
“It’s smoking! It’s smoking!” Marissa suddenly squealed.
“Put moss in!” Whitey shouted, keeping up the pace.
Marissa dropped a small piece of moss at the end of the groove. It began to smoke, then there was a tiny flame. Marissa squealed with delight, feeding the tiny fire, building it slowly.
“Man creates fire!” Marissa said, watching her little fire grow. “My hero!”
Now she fell on top of Whitey, kissing him deeply. Vince fumed.
“Hey, a fire!” Latoya shouted.
The others all came running, gathering, holding hands over the tiny fire. Valerie, Jennifer, and Reggie ran to find more wood and soon the fire was big enough to warm everyone.
“What the hell is the point of a fire?” Vince argued irrationally. “There’s nothing to cook over it.”
“I found corn!” Latoya said. “Can we roast it?”
Everyone thought that was a good idea and half of them ran off, coming back a few minutes later with a dozen ears. Now they didn’t know what to do.
“It will just burn if we put it in the fire?” Reggie said.
“I know!” Wings said. “I saw it done at a party in Ohio once. You bury them in the coals.”
“You’ll have to wait for it to burn down,” Vince said, stating the obvious.
“Maybe not,” Wings said, using a piece of wood to dig into the ground next to the fire. Then she laid out six ears, covering them with green leaves and then a layer of dirt. Now she criss-crossed dry wood on top, then set it on fire with a branch from Marissa’s fire.
“Very clever,” Whitey said.
There was a good feeling now, everyone joking and talking about who looked the worst. Reggie, who cared the most about her appearance, complained the most, but everyone else thought she looked the best. Desperate to return the pecking order to normal, Vince squeezed in between Reggie and Latoya, putting his arm around Reggie’s waist. She didn’t respond, just letting his hand rest there. Then he slid it down to her bottom. She pushed his hand away.
“I’m going to wash up,” Reggie said, leaving the circle.
Everyone had seen Vince’s move, and now all of the women decided it was time to wash their hands. They hurried after Reggie, whispering with her all the way to the pond. Only Whitey was left to manage the fire.
“We’re going to need more than corn to survive,” Vince said, covering his embarrassment.
“We can do a lot with corn,” Whitey said. “We can grind it to get corn meal, press it to get corn oil, make tortillas out of the flour, use the fibers in the husks for twine and rope.”
“Don’t be stupid, Whitey,” Vince grumbled. “That’s not a balanced diet.”
Whitey reddened but kept his eyes on the fire. Vince studied Whitey. He was an engineer; bookish, a nerd, not an athlete, but he was built like a wrestler, with thick arms and a barrel chest. Vince was taller, muscular, but not a fighter—a thinker, a persuader, a Pied Piper with a silver tongue. Could he take Whitey if he had to? If he wanted to? The man needed to know his place.
“I’ll show you an easier way to start a fire later,” Vince said.
“I’ll look forward to that,” Whitey said sarcastically.
“We better find some fruit,” Vince said.
“Jennifer found some bananas, but she couldn’t reach them,” Whitey said in a more civil tone. “There should be nuts, too. We can gather seedlings and start our own orchards. Plant some corn, too.”
“That’s the plan,” Vince said, trying to take credit.
Now Whitey looked uncomfortable, scuffing his feet.
“There are fish in that pond,” Whitey said.
“What are you suggesting?” Vince asked angrily.
“I’m just saying we could use the protein,” Whitey said.
“No. We won’t resort to murder. Not as long as I’m the leader.”
The others were coming back now, smiling, laughing. Seeing the beautiful women he had gathered together walking through the deep green meadow, picking flowers for their hair, Vince knew he had made the right decision. This was his paradise.
Wings remained in charge of the corn roast, the others falling into a silly routine. “Is it done yet?” one would ask. “No, not yet,” Wings would reply. A second later another would ask, “Is it done yet?” the others giggling like it was the funniest joke they had ever heard.
The fire over the corn had burned down to coals and now Wings cleared the glowing embers, and then scraped away the layer of dirt. The leaves underneath were soggy. Carefully, she picked up the leaves, tossing them aside, revealing steaming ears of corn. Using green leaves, Wings picked up an ear by the stem, then stripped down the husk. This wasn’t the corn sold in supermarkets, the kernels uneven in size and color, but everyone “oohed” approval. Wings held out the ear but no one took it.
“You’re the cook,” Valerie said. “You get the first taste.”
Wings smiled, then gingerly took a bite of the warm corn, scraping kernels from the small end. She munched the small mouthful, then smiled.
“It’s good!” she declared.
Everyone but Vince cheered. The corn was passed around
and everyone ate, declaring it was the best meal ever.
“What’s for lunch?” Whitey asked as he finished his ear.
“Wings’s corn!” Marissa said.
Everyone cheered.
“What’s for dinner?” Whitey asked.
“Wings’s corn!” they all responded.
“Hey, who made me the cook?” Wings asked, in mock indignation.
“You did,” Whitey said, holding up his cleaned cob.
They scattered out after breakfast, searching for food. A couple of hours later they had gathered some overripe bananas, squash, and chili peppers. Valerie and Jennifer came back excited, carrying handfuls of white fluff.
“Look at what we found,” Valerie said.
“It’s cotton,” Whitey said.
Vince slapped the cotton out of their hands. The two captives cringed, shrinking out of the group.
“I told you to get food. We can’t eat cotton.”
“But we can wear it,” Whitey said, pointing to the ragged condition of his shirt.
“I set the priorities,” Vince said. “I’m the one that led us here. I’m in charge, not you, Whitey!”
Now there was uncomfortable silence.
“Well, let’s eat what we do have,” Vince said.
Silently, Wings cut up the fruits and vegetables, dividing them into equal proportions. The fire had died down, everyone hot now, but they fed it enough to keep it burning. After lunch, everyone but Whitey and Marissa rested, the heat of the day sapping their strength. The “couple” wandered off, holding hands. Vince pictured them in the bushes somewhere making love. It angered him and aroused him. Surveying his many attractive women, Vince decided it was time to assert his sexual rights. A few minutes later Reggie roused, heading toward the pond. Vince gave her a few minutes lead, then followed.
He found Reggie, naked, squatting waist deep in the pond, clothes neatly folded on the bank. She was washing the sweat from her body. Vince studied her profile, aroused, convinced
he had created his own personal heaven. Reggie’s short red hair was limp in the high humidity, but she was the most beautiful redhead on the planet—Vince silently laughing at his own joke. She was also the oldest woman on the planet, but her breasts were still firm, her form athletic. She was an energetic lover, although controlling—he would fix that.
“Great idea,” Vince said, now coming to the bank. “I’ll join you.”
Startled, Reggie covered her breasts with her arms, then turned away. Vince unbuttoned his shirt, irritated by her reaction, but aroused by her modesty.
“You can have the pond,” Reggie said, starting to stand, then, embarrassed by her nakedness, sank back down, her eyes flicking to her clothes.
Vince sat, taking off his shoes and socks, and then his pants and underwear. Reggie looked away. Now Vince waded out toward her. Suddenly she got up and hurried toward shore.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m done,” she said. “It’s too cold.”
“Come here, I’ll warm you up,” he said.
“No thanks.”
Reggie got to shore and, not bothering to dry, stepped into her underwear, her back to Vince. Vince stormed out of the pond as she hurriedly put her bra on. Vince grabbed her and spun her around, holding her by the shoulders, squeezing so tight she winced. When he leaned down to kiss her, Reggie turned her head.
“What’s going on?” Vince demanded.
“Nothing. I’m just not in the mood.”
“I’ll get you in the mood,” Vince said, trying to kiss her again.
“Stop, Vince. I don’t want to. I feel bad about what I did. I shot a friend.”
“You did what I asked you to do. You should always do what I tell you to do, Reggie. I got us here, didn’t I? To this paradise?”
“Do you think I killed him?”
“I hope you did kill him. He was an animal-murdering bastard.”
Again she tried to struggle free, pushing on his chest. Now he grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her on the lips. She didn’t respond and when he broke off she was crying.
“Stop,” she said.
“No,” Vince said, now pushing down on her shoulders, trying to get her to the ground.
“Stop it, Vince,” Whitey suddenly called.
“Get back to camp!” Vince ordered, not turning around.
“Let her go!” Whitey said, clamping a meaty hand on Vince’s shoulder.
Vince released Reggie, spun and hit Whitey in the face. The big man staggered back, his nose bleeding. Now Vince could see Wings, Latoya, and Marissa behind Whitey. The others were coming across the meadow.
“This is between me and Reggie!” he shouted.
Whitey wiped blood from his nose. Vince looked at the size of the man. He had never seen him angry, but an angry Whitey could be too much for him. He kicked Whitey in the groin and when he sagged, Vince punched him in the face again. It was a mistake. He could see pity for Whitey in the eyes of the women. Suddenly Reggie rushed past him, clothes in her arms. Jennifer and Valerie took her under their care, shielding her from Vince while she got into the rest of her clothes.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said softly.
He was losing their admiration. Now he watched as Marissa and Wings helped Whitey to his feet, then slowly walked back to camp. Vince stayed by the pond, thinking, plotting. Whitey had to go. That night he found out that they had been plotting, too.
After a dinner of Wings’s corn and fruit, they built the fire up, both to light the camp and to keep predators away.
“Vince, we need to talk about leadership,” Marissa said suddenly.
Vince looked around. In the flickering firelight, he could see everyone but Whitey and Marissa avoiding his eyes.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes there is,” Marissa insisted.
Vince fixed her with a stare. Whitey put his hand on her knee, patting it. The man had been limping all afternoon and was not in shape to fight again.
“You’re giving all the orders, but we’re doing all the work,” Marissa said.
“I do my share,” Vince said, stung.
“No, you don’t,” Wings said. “And you complain about everything.”
Now half the group was looking him in the eye.
“Who did the work to get us here?” Vince asked.
“We weren’t supposed to be here at all,” Latoya said. “We were supposed to be at the refuge. The one we stocked and where our friends are. Besides, Marissa was the one who made the discovery.”
Now everyone in the group was staring him in the eye. Vince stood, using his size to intimidate. Marissa stood, too, pushing Whitey back down when he tried to stand.
“We want to elect a leader,” Marissa said.
“The only vote that counts is mine,” Vince said.
Control was slipping from his grasp.
“We’ve decided, Vince,” Marissa said. “We want more say—”
Vince hit Marissa in the face, sending her staggering back. Whitey caught her, lowering her to the ground, then started to get up. Vince kicked him under the jaw, snapping his head back, and then ran for the rifles, coming back armed.
“Get over there,” he ordered, keeping his back to the fire.
The others helped Marissa and Whitey to their feet, both wobbly. Marissa’s nose was bleeding.
“We’re going to settle this here and now,” Vince said, making up his plan as he went along. “From now on I’m keeping all of the rifles and the ammunition. Tomorrow, you will begin to build a bigger building, with walls and a proper roof. That will be for me. Then you can build yourselves shelter. I’ll expect one of you to sleep with me every night—a different one per night.”
He noticed Whitey. “Except for you, Whitey,” he said, and then laughed.
“I won’t sleep with you,” Reggie said.
Vince swung the rifle toward her. “What did you say?”
Reggie cowered briefly, and then stiffened. “I said, I won’t sleep with you.”
“Me neither,” Wings said.
Then one by one, each of the women rejected him. Infuriated, Vince turned the gun back on Marissa.
“You started this! You’re responsible.”
Vince’s finger tightened on the trigger. He was thinking through the pros and cons of killing her—they were all pros. Then he realized everyone was staring past him toward the fire. Before he could turn around he felt something hard press against the back of his neck.
“Put the rifle down!”
Vince didn’t recognize the voice. He hesitated. They were supposed to be alone here. Now he heard a rifle bolt pulled back, a live round ejected onto the ground next to him and then the sound of a new round sliding into the chamber.
“Put the rifle down!”
Vince lowered his rifle, set the butt on the ground, and then felt it pulled away.
“You—I think your name is Marissa? Come get the rifles.”
Marissa did as she was told, walking behind Vince. Then Vince felt the pressure removed from the back of his head and Marissa reappeared with two rifles. Vince realized the man behind him was now unarmed and turned. The man was about Vince’s age, the same height, but a little thinner. He was tanned, wearing a camouflage patterned baseball cap, and camouflage clothes.
“Ripman, is that you?” Reggie exclaimed.
“Hello, Reggie,” Ripman said.
“Who the hell are you?” Vince asked, worried by the man’s military look.
The man ignored Vince.
“My father used to beat me,” Ripman said. “Until I got big enough to fight back. Now I can’t tolerate a bully.”
“This isn’t any of your business!” Vince said, sizing up Ripman.
“Let’s take a vote,” Ripman said. “How many here want me to beat the hell out of this man?”
Everyone’s hand except Whitey’s went up.
“Well it’s not unanimous, but it’s a majority.”
Vince swung at Ripman’s face. He was ready for it, deflecting it with his right arm, then punching Vince in the rib cage with his left. It staggered Vince, but didn’t knock the wind out of him. Vince had hope now. If that was the newcomer’s best punch, Vince would kill him. Vince kicked out, Ripman jumping back. Vince charged, launching punches with both hands. Both landed, but on Ripman’s shoulders and he ducked, and lunged, head-butting Vince in the solar plexus. Now gasping for breath, he discovered Ripman had better punches in him; many better punches. Raining blows on him, Ripman beat him from head to waist, driving Vince to his knees. Then the beating stopped. There were cheers and the others came forward, shaking his hand, kissing him on the cheek, hugging him.
Vince stayed where he was, forgotten, watching in the orange firelight as his tribe adopted a new member. Now they led Ripman under the shelter, asking him where he came from. Even though they were disappointed when they learned there was no way home, they brightened again. Soon it was a party mood when Ripman ran off into the dark and came back with a jug.
“Balche,” he said.
They passed the jug around, sipping, gasping as the burning liquid trickled down their throats. Whitey and Marissa sat next to each other, holding hands. The other women arrayed around Ripman, laughing and smiling, as obsequious as if he were a god.
“That should be me,” Vince hissed, sitting in the dark.
Now plotting, he thought of the rifles. They were stacked near the new man. He couldn’t get to them now, but he would, sooner or later.
“Tomorrow I’ll patch up this roof for you,” Ripman was
saying. “Then we better get started on a stockade.”
Ripman looked over the sharpened stakes they had set around their camp.
“These stakes are a good idea, but they won’t stop the top predators.”
He was taking charge. Where was the discussion of an election now?
“That corn roast was pretty clever,” he said. “Who thought that up?”
“Wings!” they all said at once.
Wings got up and bowed.
“You know, I spotted some wild goats. We might be able to catch a few and start a herd. We can make butter from their milk.”
“Buttered corn! Wonderful!” Marissa said.
Vince spat blood from his mouth, cursed them all, and then got to his feet, swaying, grimacing. He moved gingerly. Nothing was broken, but tomorrow his body would be bruised from head to waist. Laughter behind him—he ignored it, walking toward the pond, plotting. The new man would have to sleep. He would be cautious at first, probably have one of the others stand guard, but eventually he would make a mistake. Then Vince would strike. He would kill Ripman and Whitey. There could be only one rooster in the barnyard.
Vince sat on the marshy shore, scooped up water, washing his face. Already he was feeling better. While he waited for a careless moment, he would pretend to be a new man. He would do extra work, and laugh at their juvenile jokes. He would use his charm to win them back, one by one. He could do that. He had done it all his life.
A fish broke the water, the ripples reflecting the firelight at oblique angles, creating an orange kaleidoscope. Mesmerized, he lost himself in the flickering surface. Now he kneeled, putting his face in the water and holding it there, the cool water clearing the residual fuzziness. Now he sat up, sputtering, wiping the water from his eyes. Then he relaxed back on to his bottom. He felt something hot on his neck—breathing.
Slowly he turned. The bright fire created a silhouette out of the jaguar behind him. The jaguar lunged, taking him by the neck, crushing his windpipe. It dragged him still alive from the shore. People came running from the camp, Ripman in the lead, rifle in hand, aiming it. Silently, Vince begged him to hurry, to save his life. Now Vince reached up, pushing on the jaws. The jaguar crunched down, snapping Vince’s neck. Still conscious, but unable to move or feel, he saw Ripman fire three quick rounds, the jaguar dropping in its tracks.
Vince was still conscious when they pried the jaws open and pulled him free.
“Is he dead?” Wings asked.
Reggie knelt, touching his neck.
“Yes,” Reggie said.
Vince wanted to scream at her, to call her a quack, to tell them that he was alive, but he realized she was right. He was dead. Then everything that he was, everything that he had dreamed, was taken from him.