Authors: Chad Oliver
Mark
kept
a
wary
eye
out,
but
he
saw
no
game. He
tried
not
to
think
about
how
hungry
he
was,
but he
couldn’t
help
it.
He
began
to
construct
wondrous edible
fantasies
as
he
walked
along.
He
could
see
himself
sitting
down
at
a
table
in
his
uncle’s
home—the little
table
in
the
kitchen,
with
the
clean
white
tablecloth
on
it.
And
there
was
salad,
and
turkey
soup, and
a
thick
charcoal-broiled
steak
with
hashed
brown potatoes,
and
banana
cream
pie
.
.
.
Mark
smiled
ruefully.
It
was
going
to
be
a
long
time before
he
saw
banana
cream
pie
again.
Banana
cream pie
was
fifty
thousand
years
and
more
away
.
.
.
He
kept
going,
not
daring
yet
to
eat
the
red
berries that
grew
in
profusion
all
around
him.
He
was
desperately
lonely.
In
many
ways,
his
loneliness
was
the worst
part
of
it.
Mark
had
never
before
realized
how completely
dependent
he
had
been
on
other
people. In
the
modern
world,
in
the
world
he
had
known, you
were
never
truly
alone.
If
there
was
something
you needed,
you
went
to
someone
else
and
got
it.
If
you were
hungry,
you
opened
a
can
that
had
been
processed
in
a
factory.
If
you
were
sick
and
could
not move,
you
picked
up
a
telephone
and
help
was
at your
side.
A
telephone.
If
only
his
uncle
had
not
gone
upstairs
to
answer
the
telephone!
So
long
ago—or
was
it yet
to
be?
If
only
his
uncle
were
with
him
now!
But
he
wasn’t.
Mark
could
turn
to
no
one—he
would have
to
make
it
alone
or
not
at
all.
The
sun
felt
good on
his
back,
but
the
leather
in
his
shoes
had
dried out
and
was
now
stiff
and
hard.
His
feet
hurt.
But
it couldn’t
be
helped.
He
kept
going.
Finally,
he
noticed
a
small
clump
of
shrubs
ahead of
him
and
hurried
forward
as
best
he
could.
His
eyes had
not
played
tricks
on
him;
he
knew
the
signs
of water
when
he
saw
them.
A
small,
still
pool
bubbled out
of
a
spring
before
him.
The
water
was
fairly
deep, but
clean
and
pure.
Mark
could
count
the
pebbles
on the
bottom.
He
flopped
down
beside
the
clear
water and
drank
his
fill.
The
water
was
delicious,
and
he was
much
refreshed.
He
got
to
his
feet
again,
and instantly
dropped
to
all
fours
and
wriggled
back
into the
shrubbery,
tugging
at
his
holstered
.45.
His
heart
pounded
joyfully.
Here
was
his
first
real stroke
of
luck.
Mark
crossed
his
fingers
and
held
his breath.
If
only
this
dream
did
not
dissolve
in
smoke like
all
the
others!
It
didn’t.
As
Mark
watched,
a
stately
stag
walked daintily
out
of
the
brush
on
the
far
side
of
the
pool and
sniffed
the
air.
Then,
as
though
convinced
that he
was
alone
and
at
peace
with
the
world,
the
stag lowered
his
muzzle
and
began
to
drink.
Presently,
he was
followed
by
two
does
and
a
small
fawn.
They looked
like
common
reindeer,
or
caribou,
although they
appeared
to
be
slightly
larger.