The Last Pilgrims by Michael Bunker Read Free Book Online Page A

neighborhood of 90 to 100 lbs. Not a huge pig, but it would
provide anywhere from 35 to 40 lbs of meat for the Wall’s table
tonight. She was glad that the pig hadn’t run off with her arrow,
as she and Louise would have had to track it in this heat for a
quarter of a mile through the brush. That happened more often than
not. This kill-shot had been nearly perfect, and had destroyed at
least three major organs as it passed through the pig. According to
David, piercing three organs was the ideal if you wanted to drop
the pig where it stood.
    As soon as she was sure the pig had bled out
completely, she went to work almost mechanically, gutting it, using
the hillside to provide gravity to make her work easier. She made
certain to keep most of the organ meats, but threw a small handful
to Louise as a treat and a reward.
    “Nice kill, Ruth! Not bad at all… for a
girl .”
    Ruth turned around to see Tim watching her
from the edge of the woods. She figured that he’d be around here
somewhere. Tim was one of Phillip’s ghostmen. He was 18 years old,
and it had become obvious in the past week that it was his job to
watch over her like some kind of bodyguard. She was unsure of how
she felt about that.
    Tim did a good job. She usually couldn’t
figure out where he was, though it had become a bit of a game
between them, as she was always trying to locate him whenever she
was hunting. She almost never could. He kept his distance, moved
almost soundlessly, and was never upwind.
    “That was an expert kill-shot, Timmy. Not
one of you ghostmen, not even Phillip, could have done it better,”
Ruth boasted, working with her knife without pause on the pig
carcass.
    “I don’t know; I’ve seen Phillip kill a pig
without even loosing the arrow. He just thought about it and the
pig surrendered.”
    “Whatever, Timothy,” she retorted in a
mocking tone. “Hey, be a pal and help me get this meat back to the
house.” They trussed the pig carcass onto the walking stick and
carried it back to the house between themselves.
    Ruth really didn’t like hunting for pigs in
the summertime. Pigs were usually winter food, but their numbers
had multiplied so much over the last few years that it had become
necessary. As a result, they were hunted in large numbers even in
the summer. The Walls didn’t mind the extra meat. When they didn’t
have visiting guests (which wasn’t very often), they would grind
the meat into sausage, lacto-ferment it, smoke it in the stone
smokehouse, and dry it. Dried, smoked sausage was one of the
primary foods for the Walls whenever they travelled, because it was
perfectly preserved without any added processing. It was also very
convenient because it could be carried in a backpack, a pocket, or
a satchel, ready to eat at any given moment.
    This pig, though, would be tonight’s supper
for the Walls and all of their guests. The old cook Wally (she
called him ‘Walleye’) would roast it on a spit over an open flame.
Ruth’s mouth watered just thinking about it.
    As they walked back to the house, Tim and
Ruth talked about hunting and the hot summer, as Louise trotted
back and forth, darting underneath the pig as if she wanted
everyone to know that she had been the one to find it.
    Technically, according to the ordnung of the community, she and Timothy were never allowed to be alone
together. Tim was supposed to watch from afar and keep her safe.
But no one would say anything to him for helping her carry a heavy
pig back home. And she really did enjoy his company. Timothy was
nice.
    Back at the house, Wally half-heartedly
scolded Ruth for bringing him another pig so late in the day. “This
is the third pig in five days, girl! And here we are only hours
from supper!”
    Ruth knew that, in truth, Walleye was always
pleased when he could cook up a nice pig for supper. She would
tease back by telling him, “Ok, Walleye, sorry about that. I’ll
feed it to Louise and the rest of the dogs.” Then he’d say, “No,
no,