To the Well-Organized Mind

Chapter Thirty-Six

[Nia]

I imagine it will take generations for humanity to recover from the Cataclysm's fallout. To get factories running, food chains back in place, hospitals back in practice, etc. This is assuming the land can even be utilized half as much as it was previously.

But should we recover from it? Maybe humanity's dominion should be over.

-from Ridge's history lessons

***

"So," I say, "How were you planning to free yourself before I came along?" I'm taking a mental assessment of everything on my person even as I ask that. I don't really expect him to have a plan in any fashion. The pocketknife is folded down and deep in my pocket. Even if we could get it out of my pocket, which is dubious, there's no way we could open it.

I glance over at Fen, curious how embarrassed he is. But a smile slowly overtakes Fen's face, even as he gazes at the ferals around us as if tallying them. So he does have a plan. Damn, he's beginning to impress me.

"Strapped to my right calf is a knife. Jaden made me equip him," he confesses. "I wouldn't be able to get it off because it's on the outside of my leg, but now that you're here...maybe you can help draw it."

Maybe if I were barefoot...still, it's better than doing nothing.

I check the area, just to see what's happening. A pair of female ferals take some wood out from under the sheltered overhang, adding it to the fire. It seems their fire is constantly burning—which it must be to survive despite the recent rain. The other female ferals perform daily chores—weaving baskets, child minding, whittling spears, gathering grubs and worms and other edibles during the wet season. I've never seen a feral gang as cohesive and organized as this one. The chores they do could almost be humans living in the wilderness.

The male ferals are gathering up supplies. Half of them have spears, while the other half have real knives, ropes, and even bags and tarps—I've never seen a feral gang so well armed, either. The alpha leads them into the forest, and four of the dogs dash into the forest with them. That still leaves two here.

The clearing is suddenly much quieter. No one is paying any attention to us, so it's the perfect time to try an escape. I wiggle my way closer to Fen and bring my left leg over his right. It's uncomfortable, and our hips are ramming into each other, but I focus on trying to use both toes to pull up his pant leg. Using my injured foot in this way renews the ache in my ankle, but finally, I pull up his pant leg enough to reveal the knife.

"She sent you with that?" Bless Jaden and her foresight. This knife's blade is about the length of my forearm. It has two loops on the pommel for added grip, which, again, if I had a toe free, would make drawing it simple. But I don't have a toe free.

Twisting and turning my body, I try every position possible to try to draw the knife. The point of my boot, the heel of my boot, even just rubbing my calf along his calf in case the friction would be enough to draw it. But all I succeed in doing is looking like a fool and straining my muscles.

"Nia."

The tightness in Fen's voice alerts me, and I suddenly freeze. I currently happen to be almost wedged behind him in my attempt to free the knife, so I cautiously peer up from behind his shoulder, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes.

A young female feral is standing before us. She's holding a woven basket, and from the drips of water from the bottom, it likely is to give us a drink. But she's staring at us in confusion, almost revulsion. My antics likely are the strangest behavior she's ever seen.

"It's okay," Fen says soothingly. "Nothing to be concerned about. We're really quite thirsty." He sticks his tongue out and pants a little, making his thirst clear.