Caveman 2: A Time Travel Romance, #2

Chapter One

May 29, 2012

The wheels had come off my luggage. The handle broke as well, forcing me to use a strip of leather to drag it behind me, but its days were numbered. Having walked for nearly two weeks now, we had yet to encounter the bigger tribe, but from the rush of chatter up ahead, something of significance had occurred.

What is it? My shoes sunk into mud, the trek through the woods having ruined them. I had not seen open land for some time. Dense trees surrounded the path, the branches sagging with huge, glossy leaves.

I don’t know, Janet, said Claire tiredly. She wore her long, blonde hair in a ponytail.

Gundre’s son, Punda, ran past, but I grabbed his arm, asking, What’s happening? I spoke the primitive language adequately enough, but I suspected my accent sounded terrible.

It’s the Tribe of Three Rivers. Eager to be free, he slid from my grasp, running up the line, towards where his father and the other hunters were.

I guess we found them. My calloused hand gripped the leather, the bottom edge of the suitcase scraping through the mud. It had lost several layers of canvas, the inner lining exposed in places. This is almost useless now.

My stuff’s falling apart too. It’s just a matter of time before we’re barefoot and wearing those sporty-looking leather skirts. Claire giggled, squinting into the distance, although we saw little other than foliage. A far cry from Manhattan, huh?

We crashed three months ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed. A blur of strange faces, bizarre creatures, and a stark, nomadic life had followed. It feels a lot longer. We kept walking.

You have to help me with their language. I’m getting bits and pieces, but you’ve really got it.

The easy words. I can get the gist of what they’re saying, but not everything.

It’s still better than me.

You and Matta talk all the time.

We try.

Claire had been a model; the willowy blonde now sported dark roots. She would be a brunette within a year. Only four of us had survived the plane crash, the other members of the photo shoot having perished. A freak electrical storm tossed us back in time or the plane had crashed in another dimension, but we could not make any sense of it. The need for food and shelter had kept us far too occupied to worry about how and where we were, but it remained certain we had gone back many thousands of years. The creatures we had seen proved this: the camels, the mastodons, and the screams of strange and dangerous tigers in the woods at night.

There’s a clearing. Claire pointed. We’re through the forest. Finally.

Yippee, I muttered tiredly, wanting to rest. I had never walked this much in my life, having lost quite a bit of weight recently. I had always been on the chubby side, with rounded hips and ample breasts, but that was all disappearing—rapidly. Wonder if we can take a break?

I hope so.

How are you feeling? You didn’t throw up today yet.

No. That seems to be over, I guess.

Her mate, Matta, had been responsible for her condition, having gotten her pregnant. You look good.

Are you kidding? I’ve got five layers of dirt on me, crap beneath my fingernails, and I need to wash my hair so bad. I’ve never been this disgusting in my entire life.

When we had first crashed, she was impossible to live with, her immaturity and selfish behavior wearing on everyone’s nerves. Being in her early twenties and an up-and-coming supermodel, Claire’s adjustment to an uncivilized world proved painful. Since then, the need to survive had softened her rough edges, revealing a surprisingly pleasant human being. All of her pretenses had peeled off (like her makeup), leaving a young woman determined to endure and adapt. She had been a royal pain in the ass, but I was proud of her now.

I’m almost out of soap. I’d brought several small hotel bars, but only one remained, although it was a thin sliver. I’ll cry when it goes.

Me too.

The tribal members stank to high heaven. Their odor could be detected from a distance, but I hardly noticed now, because we all smelled just as bad.

Martha, the oldest of the bunch at forty-six, approached. Hey. Come see this. She had lost weight as well, her body lean and sturdy, the clothing hanging loosely from her frame. The other tribe’s in the valley. You gotta check this out.

Everyone gathered on a ledge, overlooking an open expanse, although a mountain in the distance took up prominence, its snowcapped peak billowing white smoke. I dropped the suitcase, grateful to be free of it for a moment, and approached Phil, who held up a camera.

Do you see them?

I’m looking.

Gundre and Pattahunda spoke with Fesha and Matta, while the others chatted happily, excited the long walk was almost over. Primitive and lean looking, each man wore a leather wrap around his waist, with a face full of hair and long, tangled hair down their backs. They were filthy up to the knees from having waded through mud. Gundre, who was my mate, grinned, nodding at me. I returned the favor.

Phil gave me the camera. Check that out. He had brought most of his photography gear, stowed in two backpacks.

What am I looking at? I glanced through the lens, seeing the mountain clearly, the conical shape jutting into the sky, with white clouds having gathered above it. A thick band of snow ran around the top.

That mountain look funny to you?

I … guess. Should it?

Um … only the smoke coming off the top.

Lifting the lens, I eyed the whitish steam. Oh, shit.

He touched my hand gently, lowering the lens. Check out where the tribe is. You see all those huts. There must be hundreds of them.

Sure enough, the Tribe of Three Rivers had made their home directly at the base of the mountain, a mountain that looked and acted suspiciously like a volcano. Oh, my God.

They’re sitting ducks.

I glanced at Phil. Do you think it might explode right now?

I don’t know. You need to ask Gundre about it. Ask him if it’s ever spewed lava. He looked grim, his face filled with a messy beard. Greasy hair hung to his shoulders.

It looks peaceful now. Sometimes volcanoes don’t erupt for a hundred years, right? Maybe they’ve been living here forever without any problems.

That’s what I want to know. You need to speak to Gundre. Ask him how long it’s smoked. He ran fingers through his hair. I’m not thrilled to be going down there, Janet. I’m no volcanologist, but that doesn’t look so good to me.

I bit my lip. "Man, I didn’t see this coming."

Just look at the size of that mountain. It’s freaking enormous. If that blows … He left those words hanging.

I’ll talk to Gundre. Hurrying over to him, I touched his arm. I need to speak to you, I said in his language.

He grinned, his dark eyes flashing. What is it? I know you’re tired, Janet, but we’ve a few hours left. We want to reach the tribe by nightfall.

I drew him away, asking, How long has that mountain smoked? I pointed to it. How many seasons?

Always. It’s what it does.

I see.

Is something the matter?

It’s a volcano.

He did not understand that, his thick brows furrowing. A what?

It’s called a volcano. It’s a dangerous mountain. It’ll blow up one day. I made a gesture with my hands; the fingers splaying up and out. Then I added sound effects, but he seemed even more confused now. Oh, never mind.

You say it’s dangerous?

Yes. The smoke is a sign of danger. It’s going to explode one of these days and kill everyone living nearby. Jesus, I just hope it doesn’t happen while we’re here. That’s the last thing I need. Maybe we’ll get lucky? How long are we staying?

Many nights.

My expression fell. Oh, man. I glanced at the mountain, the smoke billowing out in an even stream.

Phil came over. What did he say?

It’s been emitting ever since he can remember.

Just great. His hands went to his hips. And that’s where we’re going.

It seems so.

Gundre glanced between us. You need not worry. The Tribe of Three Rivers are peaceful people. You’re with us, so they won’t bother you. Once Phil and Fesha find women, we’ll be on our way. He seemed perplexed by our uneasiness. You’re safe. You need not worry.

It’s not the people, Gundre, I said. It’s the mountain. It’s dangerous.

You need not fear.

He doesn’t understand.

There’s nothing we can do about it right now, said Phil. Let’s cross our fingers and hope the damn thing doesn’t blow like Pompeii.

Well, the plane crash didn’t kill us. Maybe we’re just lucky? I smiled buoyantly, praying for the best.

Martha drew near. So, I guess you’re talking about that lovely mountain, huh? The one that looks suspiciously like a volcano.

Yeah, said Phil, lifting the lens to his eyes. That’s where we’re heading. The big tribe lives down there.

Fan-tast-ic. She shook her head.

I touched her arm. With any luck, we’ll be long gone before it erupts. Gundre said it’s been like that ever since he can remember.

Which means it’s probably ready to blow just about right now.

I can’t get him to understand the danger. Let’s hope it doesn’t.

May I look?

Sure. Phil handed the camera to her.

She glanced through the lens. Thin, white smoke. It’s not super thick. Lots of snow at the top. Scanning downwards, she uttered, Whoa … look at all those huts. That’s … that’s like hundreds and hundreds of huts. It’s a whole colony of prehistoric folk living right there at the base of Mt. Vesuvius.

A chill went down my spine. Shush about that. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Phil gave me a look. What? It’s a little smoke. It’s venting. Nothing wrong with venting, right?

As long as it stays that way, yeah. I’ll be watching it closely. If that smoke gets any thicker, we’re gettin’ the hell outta here.

Chapter Two

The walk down into the valley was easier than I thought it might be, although having to pull luggage through the dirt left my arms throbbing. Claire and Martha dragged theirs too, sometimes stopping to sit on the scuffed and damaged bags. Once mine gave out, I’d be forced to carry everything in a leather pack on my back. That idea began to appeal to me more and more.

A thin switchback trail led to a vast stretch of grassland. The sun was now drifting over the mountain behind us, lowering gradually. The lush, green valley looked well watered and fertile, the soil dark and virtually rock free. It was easy to see why a large tribe might settle here permanently. Different species of birds flew overhead, some screeching shrilly, while deer crossed our path on several occasions, the sound of our footfalls startling the animals.

Phil wore a faded baseball cap, his dark hair hanging out of the bottom. I observed him, marveling at how lean he had become, but then again, I also looked like a shadow of my former self. We should arrive in a bit, huh?

He grinned, flashing white teeth. Yeah, nothin’ like taking a little vacation. Gettin’ away from it all, he joked. I’ve been to New Britain, in Papua New Guinea. This totally reminds me of that volcano. It gives off constant steam and a lotta sulphur dioxide.

Will they have hot springs? Claire looked hopeful. I’d love a bath more than anything right now. She grinned. That, and a skinny latte.

I imagine so. I’m sure that’s one of the things that attracts people to this place.

Let’s get there fast then. This perked Claire up, her feet carrying her towards where Matta and Fesha walked.

Maybe we’ll be all right, I said. I mean, aren’t there thousands of people living near active volcanoes every day and nothing happens?

More than thousands. Millions.

And they’re safe.

Until it explodes.

We walked in a single file, the hunters up ahead, while the little ones scampered behind them, followed by their parents. Phil and I brought up the rear, as we dragged the most cumbersome of the bags. He had two backpacks around his shoulders, which held camera equipment and personal belongings. He used the telephoto lens still, having brought extra batteries, at least until he exhausted them. Our cell phones had died weeks ago.

So, you’re going to find yourself a little lady? I asked teasingly.

Apparently. He hit his chest, grunting. I need woman.

Oh, my God. You’ve seen what they look like. Do you really think you can make a connection?

You’re happy with Gundre. You don’t seem to … mind him.

I guess not.

I kinda doubt I’ll find a woman. I’m just happy to be alive still at this point. I'm taking it one day at a time.

Like we have a choice. If you could find a nearby airport, that would be fantastic. I’d like a ticket back to New York, please. A twinge of homesickness raced through me. I thought of Brian, the fiancé I had left behind, who must be out of his mind now with worry. We were supposed to be married this summer, but my disappearance had put an end to that.

What’s the matter?

I just … miss stuff.

So do I.

I’m supposed to be planning my wedding.

I’m supposed to be in South America. I was going there in May. I’ve been trying to keep track of the days. I’m certain we’re in May now, maybe even June. The longer we’re here, I might forget about time all-together.

We had been on a private jet heading for a photo shoot in Florida, when the freak storm had occurred. None of us had arrived at our destination. They all must think we died.

Yeah.

I wonder how we can contact them?

We can’t.

There has to be some way to send a message.

There isn’t.

Cavemen painted on walls. That might work.

Maybe.

I could leave a message in a cave.

With what?

I brought makeup. I can’t believe I haven’t thrown it out yet. I had been a makeup artist. I’ve brushes and eyeliner and lipstick.

You can gussy up the primitive women. They’ll love that, he laughed.

I could draw on a wall.

You’d need something that can stand the test of time. Makeup would fade and disappear. Prehistoric man used some kind of paint from clay or plants. I’ve no idea.

The thought of leaving a message for Brian appealed to me. I’ll ask around. I’ll think of something. Even if I never saw him again, at least he might someday know what happened to me.

Good luck with that. A commotion up ahead caught our attention. Wonder if we’ve met up with the other tribe?

I don’t know.

Our camp dog, which looked suspiciously like a wolf, yapped furiously. He discovered the carcass of a rather large animal, the hide having been stripped and the meat hacked off.

Oh, gross, muttered Claire, covering her mouth. It stinks.

Huge black flies buzzed in the air, some landing on my back and shoulders. Mastodon?

Phil grimaced. Looks like it.

We had hunted a mastodon a few weeks ago, the tribe now carrying the pelts and meat we cured at a camp behind the mountain. When are we meeting up with the triple river people or whatever they’re called?

Gundre approached, carrying a spear. We keep going. This isn’t anything to worry about. He grinned at me. How are you, Janet?

I’m fine, I said in his language. When are we getting there?

Soon. He reached for me, saying, Men hatta, which meant come here. His lips brushed my cheek. Do not be frightened of what you might see. You’ll look strange to these people, but we’ll take care of everything. You, Phil, and Claire and Martha are safe with us.

That was worrying. All right. Senan, I said, which meant thank you.

He patted my butt, grinning. Then he addressed everyone. We’re nearly there. Keep going!

Shortly after the plane crash, we had encountered Gundre and Fesha, who had been wandering the savanna alone. They had been startled to see us at first, but they offered shelter and water. Gundre had taken me into his bedding, and not daring to refuse, I had submitted to him, although I had enjoyed the experience. These people took what they wanted, they lived according to the sun and the moon and what nature gave them. They were primitive in every respect, but I had never felt in danger or witnessed deliberate cruelty, except when crazy Tanna had hit Gundre’s son, Punda, but I had put a stop to that. They were far from perfect, but they were my tribe now.

More than an hour later, I spied the first cooking fire, tendrils of smoke drifting upwards. It being nearly dark now, we threaded our way through tall grasses, and, although I had walked all day, a burst of nervous energy coursed through me. We were about to meet an expansive tribe, and I worried about the outcome.

I see a hut, said Martha. She dragged a suitcase, her feet encased in sneakers. "These people are