Jornada del Muerto: Prisoner Days by Claudia Hall Christian Read Free Book Online Page B

mission to save
humanity very seriously. He was confident I would need his help. At
the time, I thought he was nuts. But now I realize he was right. I
will need help, and I know he will help me if he can.
    My sisters had a touch of the shaman in
them. After my great-great grandmother, there was never a woman
shaman in my family line. Not one. I’m not sure if the women didn’t
get the gift or if my great-great grandmother worked so hard that
they were intimidated by the work. Either way, they used their
gifts to snag husbands, keep on top of their children’s mischief,
and generally enjoy life. My sister was one of the joys of my
life.
    My mother’s children knew how to laugh,
that’s for sure. My steadfast father was always the last to join
in, but even he enjoyed the loud, rambunctious chaos of our family
the most. He never had a cross word to say to anyone, and still he
was not someone to be taken lightly. He was wise and strong, in a
way I have not seen since then.
    He and my great-great grandmother fought
over me. He created the space for me to roam the woods and
mountains most of my childhood. My great-great grandmother thought
it was a waste of time. I should be studying. But my father was
adamant. “Let him follow his own path. Let the boy go,” he’d say.
Around and around they went. My father always won.
    While I probably needed more study, the
thing that’s kept George and me alive is my experience in the
backwoods of New Mexico. Dad was right. I needed to learn how to
live and how to survive, before I could become a real shaman.
Without his intervention, I’d surely be dead by now. George,
too.
    I haven’t seen my father, or my mother,
since all of this happened. In my fantasy, my father is waiting for
me at the Pecos Pueblo. In my heart, I know that he found my mother
waiting for him. After having to live without her for so long, he
would never leave her side. In my heart, I know they are together
and in love.
    The thought makes me smile.

11/09/2056
    We spent today like we’ve spent most days --
in the peace and safety of working to survive. For the last six
months, we’ve been working to get ready for our journey. Today, we
went bow hunting for elk. I shot an elk not far from here.
    Of course, the smell of blood can bring the
wasps from a hundred miles away. We were careful to hang the elk
before returning to the Pen for the vehicle. We heard, but did not
see, the wasps moving in our direction. Thank the creator because
I’d hate to start the count to 500 days over again.
    Together, George and I skinned and butchered
the animal. While George attended the fires, I cut the flesh into
strips and lined our drying racks. This enormous creature will be
the third elk we’ve dried for our journey.
     
    George and I had elk steak tonight with the
last of the Worchester sauce. Funny the things you become
accustomed to. We found a stash of this precious flavoring in the
chef’s private reserve.
    That brings to mind an interesting
thing.
    I would have thought there would be an
abundance of supplies left hanging around for the last human
beings. Unlike in the movies, the world’s transition to wasp didn’t
happen all at once. It happened slowly, one person at a time.
    It was different here at the Pen. Because
they gave the vaccine to so many people at one time, they turned en
masse. It was a solid month before the wasps ran out of people to
eat and almost a year before we had a handle on them.
    But in the “real world,” the change was much
more subtle. One person would change and then slowly eat their
family. An entire year after the Pen changed, the world and media
began to catch onto the problem. And even then, a lot of people
thought it was a joke. Efforts to rehabilitate wasps took hold in
the conservative churches and other charities.
    The government knew that wasps had ravaged
through the prisons, hospitals, jails, military bases, third-world
shantytowns, most of India, and any other place where