Trudge

Trudge



By Mordecai J Banda



“Its better if you keep your hands free at all times. I really don’t think you need that.”

“I won it after lots of hard work, uncle.”

The boy’s uncle shrugged, “If it means much to you. Just don’t shine that thing in my face.” He continued adjusting the straps to the packsack. The boy sat in the sand, watching mournfully. He grasped the silver medal, turned it around endlessly, watching the glare of the sun bounce of its intricate engravings. Dead on its centre was a golden “1”. The boy looked up at his uncle.

“You really don’t have a more advanced pack sack? They almost always have beacons.”

“Mark,” his uncle turned to face him, which meant he was annoyed to some extent. Uncle Pete rarely used his name, “I already thought of that. Most of the emergency gear from the plane was thrashed, and it didn’t carry much. In fact, I found something better than a beacon,” Uncle Pete produced a satellite phone, he switched it on, but the display was blatantly haywire, “But there’s some magnetic interference.”

He tightened another buckle from the packsack. Mark knew he wanted to add something more. Right on cue, Uncle Pete looked up at him,

“Its probably what brought the plane down.”

Mark stayed silent. Uncle Pete rose from his crouch, slung the mountainous, primitive pack over his back. He tossed the satellite phone without a glance. It landed in the sand with a dull thud.

“Why did you throw it away?” Mark asked, looking at it. Uncle Pete just looked at him and said, “Stand up, Mark, we’re moving.”

Mark stood up reluctantly. He dusted his black suit and straightened his necktie. Uncle Pete looked at him.

“You might want to remove the tie and the blazer, Mark.”

“I’m okay.” Mark said. Uncle Pete shrugged, started walking. Before Mark followed him, he picked up the satellite phone in the sand and pocketed it.



“Uncle, won’t we go around in circles?” Mark spoke up, panting with some amount of dignity.

Uncle Pete didn’t answer; he was just walking straight ahead towards the blank promise of more dunes and sand and white sky.

“Because- I heard it from a school book that people favour one foot and that foot gradually overcompensates and…” Mark stopped talking. Uncle Pete didn’t turn back. He still spoke, however,

“I’m ambidextrous, Mark, and I know what I’m doing.” Then after a short pause he added, “And I’ve done this before.”

Mark opened his mouth, and then stopped it. He tried to spit in the dust, but nothing came to his mouth. Suddenly he felt strangely faint, and a clawing emptiness squeezed his throat. He tried to cough without his uncle noticing but It didn’t work, his uncle turned around immediately,

“Your thirsty, Mark?”

Mark opened his mouth to answer, saw the face and he frowned,

“No. I’m fine.”

Twenty more steps later, Mark felt himself floating. He noticed the sun peeking in the corner of his right eye, which was feeling strangely like a window, and when he turned to face the sun, he felt wind against the side of his face, and then there was a sting in his left ear, and he was lying on his side on a hot blanket. The sky was so dreamy, and Mark wanted to shut his eyes.

Then there was shadows playing against his right eye – window – and a blur passed over his face. Mark then felt like he was floating – rising, and his mouth was pulled open. Then life poured down his throat, and the life was water, and Mark couldn’t have enough of it. He drank it fast, only enjoying the wetness. It otherwise scratched him horribly and some went down the wrong way twice. He managed to clear the water for those two times, but then on the third he was thrown into a coughing fit, and he wasn’t floating anymore. And the sun was no longer dreamy: it was just annoyingly hot and constant, and the hot blanket was the sand, and Mark knew he had fallen down. His neck felt too weak to support his head and then Uncle Pete’s hands lowered him gently onto a rough but soft enough cushion that was the packsack. His necktie was torn off, and his blazer was removed with some difficulty. Then there was the curious daze again as Mark stared into the sky.



When he came to, there was a shade over his head. Mark stretched himself and then propped himself on his elbows. He looked around and was surprised to see that this shade had no walls, and when he looked up to inspect the shade again he shook his head with pity: His uncle had set up the tent as a roof. The steel poles that were meant to frame the tent held it up.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t notice, but that still doesn’t give you an excuse to act stupid.” Uncle Pete’s voice droned. Mark stood up; his uncle was sitting cross-legged in the dust. He was inspecting a set of tools placed on a leather rectangle.

“Act stupid?” Mark asked. A headache suddenly crashed in on him as soon as he said those words.

“You were thirsty, I asked you if you were, and you lied.” Uncle Pete picked up a knife from the leather set; he grasped it tightly and reached for a thin rectangular package.

“I wouldn’t have lied if you actually cared.” Mark mumbled to himself. He wasn’t rescued by the mumbling: Uncle Pete, as usual heard it loud and clear. He stabbed the knife in the dust and glared at Mark. He seemed to want to say something then shook his head, picking the knife out of the dust once more and inspecting the package. Mark noticed it was an H-ration. Dehydrated and specially packed foods that accumulate upon the addition of water. His uncle decided, and turned the packet over, brought his knife closer to it to start cutting,

“Wait.” Mark said, stretching out his hand in a stopping gesture.

His uncle cut through the packet easily, leaving it in two halves. When he was done he looked at Mark with annoyance,

“What?”

Mark pointed, “You just destroyed the in built delivery system. It has it’s own water, you know.”

Uncle Pete looked at the packet that was now seeping water and a yellow liquid. Mark continued in a voice as un-accusing as possible,

“Now it’ll be harder to hydrate the food evenly, and the extra nutrients are in that yellow liquid. We’ll be eating lower grade stuff.”

Uncle Pete looked slightly surprised for a moment, but a murderous frown replaced that. He threw the seeping packet away, reached for another, and tossed it to Mark. He tossed the knife along also with a soft pitch, and Mark caught it deftly with two fingers. He set the knife to the ground and inspected the packet. He found the two red buttons inlayed on the instructions sticker and he pressed them simultaneously while setting the packet to the ground. Both Mark and Uncle Pete watched as the food – Tuna and Beef- swelled upwards in a perfect square. The upper layer of the plastic popped into nothing and left only the lower plastic surface to hold the food. Mark took the knife and cut the square into four slices. He picked out a slice, bit into it carefully and after his first swallow he invited,

“Dig in.”

His uncle looked at the food almost disgustedly, and took one slice. He bit in it, expecting a just-bearable taste, but was so overwhelmed by the taste his frown vanished. He stuffed the whole slice in his mouth, and started gesturing wildly with his fingers with his mouth full, trying to say something. Mark just smiled and nodded,

“I know. I felt the same. Ate H-rations for a whole week.” He took another slice.



They all overslept. Mark didn’t remember what he dreamed, but he knew it was about the crash, because his uncle woke him up.

“You okay?”

“I… think so?” Mark smiled and felt tears on his cheeks. He blushed furiously and tried to rub them, and then suddenly he was hit by emotion. He felt his throat swell, and he remembered the blood, the screams and his father’s dead, broken face… and he started crying. His uncle watched him awkwardly, and patted his shoulder.



They walked on. The desert seemed more populated with a number of fat green cacti on the way. The sand was as thick as ever, though.

“Are we close to land?” Mark asked absently. His uncle smiled, though Mark didn’t see it.

“I’m thinking you mean city, or town. Technically were not, but I’ve heard that a few nomadic communities live around these cacti.” He walked past one of them, it was two times his height, and Uncle Pete was tall enough. Marked passed by the prickly plant and wondered aloud,

“You make it sound as though they follow these cacti.”

“That’s what I mean. These cacti are not the normal ones your old books document. These are evolved camel cacti, watch.”

Uncle Pete stopped by one of the cactus, and he waved Mark a few steps away. He took out a knife, and stabbed the cacti somewhere in its middle between two of its needles. He jumped aside and hopped many steps away. Mark looked at the cacti with curiosity, nothing happened. Then there was a small pfft popping sound and Mark felt something cut through his hair. He cried out and fell down while shielding his face. When he landed he felt water soak his garments and he took a peek to see that a wide puddle had formed around the cacti. It was sinking silently into the sand. His uncle was kneeling on the floor, clutching his shoulder in pain. Mark stood up, the back of his clothes hugging him, and he stepped forward to help him. Just as he arrived his uncle pulled out a needle from his shoulder, looked at it bemusedly and tossed it away. He picked up the discarded knife and stood up.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked.

“Yeah… sorry about that- forgot that these suckers sometimes explode.” He looked at the cacti, and Mark followed his gaze and noticed for the first time how blasted it was: it had lost most of its quills and was dropping life a badly fitting costume.

Mark shrugged, “You never were good at understanding things. Even though you knew them perfectly well.” That touched a nerve, Uncle Pete rounded on him,

“And just what the hell do you know Mr. Richie Rich?” Mark felt his heart jump, and a familiar anger filled him. The heat of the desert seemed to dissipate.

“I always knew you had a problem with rich people. My father was right.”

Uncle Pete turned away from Mark and continued walking. Stomping, actually,

“Your father was a self-serving rich guy who cared only for his own opinions!” he roared. Mark quickened his pace in the uneven sand, trudging after him.

“You left the family to go to wild lands!” He shouted, vaguely surprised at how the argument had started yet strangely enjoying it, “You left the leading engineering company in the world just over a small argument!”

Uncle Pete stopped in his tracks, and he turned on Mark, furious. His right hand still held the knife, but Mark was not afraid. He felt all his pent up emotions towards Uncle Pete hurdle for packaging and prompt delivery.

“So he called it a small argument? Your father was going to destroy culture! He wanted to release my papers on technology for-“

“Planetary colonization. You idiotically thought that somehow somewhere culture would be destroyed?”

Uncle Pete snorted, “So he told you? How did you feel when you found out I was the genius in the family huh?” He folded his hands.

Mark snorted right back at him,

“Genius? A genius wouldn’t punch his brother over a simple question. A genius wouldn’t fall in love with a hippie who had sex with half of his class, and let that destroy his life long dream.”

Mark saw Uncle Pete’s hand clutch the knife fiercely. His veins bulged and his breath quickened.

“She- she did not do that! And I loved her… and she loved me! And all because of your stupid company, I lost her! Your father is a liar. She loved only me. Until my work came between us…”

Mark smiled cruelly, “Yeah, my father told me about her adventures, but I did some research myself to find out it was true. She’s on the net, uncle. She calls herself Mother Nature.”

Uncle Pete’s face scrunched up with such grief that Mark almost felt sorry that he had said something so harsh. Uncle Pete shouldered off his packsack and took three steps forward. He looked down at Mark.



“You see? There are always gadgets and gizmos to ruin a man’s life. You will never understand my motives, Mark. I can’t believe you can’t see the destruction this technology has done to us. I would expect you to be on my side, especially since a simple malfunctioning Magnetic Propulsion Drive is the cause of you being an orphan.



Mark felt the comment slash him, and he threw a swift punch that struck his uncle across his neck. Uncle Pete coughed, turned around and clutched his neck. Mark stood there, venting fury, the cold feeling him. Then his Uncle turned again to face Mark, and he grabbed him by the neck, bringing the knife close enough for Mark to lick it.

“K-Kill me,” Mark choked out suddenly, “you’ll get the family money in the end. You do realise I’m a billionaire now. Only ch-child, uncle. Kill me and your rich and famous.” Mark was actually sincere. He surprised himself and wondered vaguely if he really wanted to die.

But Uncle Pete didn’t kill him; he deflated. Then he dropped Mark; he pocketed the knife and turned away. He walked to the dropped packsack and slung it over his shoulder again, securing it on the other. Then he spoke,

“You’re just his son, Mark, and its pointless to fight with someone that’s only a descendant of your enemy.”

He turned to look at Mark, who was still in the wet sand. The cacti seemed to watch over them, and the sun boiled overhead.

“We all have conflicting views, Mark, but you didn’t know the darkest of your father’s ideas. Call me pompous, but I’m a hero for this world. I’ve stopped your father from releasing some pretty destructive inventions into this world. I have had my share of technology, and it’s enough. I threw away my engineering not only for… her. There were other factors as well.” He rubbed some sweat from his brow and continued, “you wouldn’t understand since you seem so determined to be your father’s son, but know this: That crash-“ Uncle Pete pointed in the direction from whence they came, “Killed all your family. You’re now an adult, and you have no one to make decisions for you. So it’s up to you to decide.”

Mark sat there in the dust. He felt something stab his buttocks and when he checked out what it was, he found that it was the faintly flickering -and now crushed- satellite phone. Uncle Pete saw it and shook his head, and then he turned and continued walking. Mark stood up and looked at the broken phone. There was a gaping hole in its centre that revealed complex circuitry. Mark prodded this hole dazedly and was rewarded with the sting of electric shock. He sucked his finger and looked at the phone curiously. Then he looked at the cacti. It still seeped some water. He looked at the phone, then the cacti, and then at the phone again…

He threw the phone away,

and turned to see Uncle Pete a few metres away: he had stopped to adjust a strap of the packsack. Mark caught up with him,

“Mother nature wins, uncle.” He shouted.

Uncle Pete looked at him with some anger, and then curiosity crept into his face when he saw the expression on Mark’s face.

“Which one?” He asked, studying Mark’s eyes with a slight frown.

Mark smiled and patted his uncle’s chest. Then he went ahead of him, walking… walking in the thick sand.