“Do you want me to go?” I ask, feeling wildly out of place. “I can go and get Fairlight. Bring her here. That was the plan anyway, right?”
“I can go,” Alma says. “That way you can stay with-”
“No, I’ll do it,” I reply, suddenly anxious to get out of there. “It’s faster to take the horse and I’m the only one who can ride her.”
Alma’s eyes furrow, but Ezekiel backs me up. “She’s right. Besides, I’ll need you to help me stabilize him. Ash, go. Don’t worry about the others. Just get Fairlight here as quick as you can.”
I risk a quick glance at Thorn, lying prone on his back. The fabric Alma pressed against his wounds already tinged red between her taut fingers. His face appears pale, eyes fluttering as he struggles for consciousness.
“Ash,” Ezekiel says, pulling my attention back. “Go.”
I nod, heading back toward the gate.
Half an hour at a full gallop gets me to where they are. I leave the horse a good distance from the camp. She just does not do well around regular people, and to tell the truth, I don’t much care for it either. So, I tuck away my impatience and go the rest of the way on foot.
“Where’s Fairlight?” I ask as one of the women spots me approaching. The children scurry around us, and she sends one of them to fetch her.
“What’s happened?” the woman asks, worry lines etching her forehead. “Ezekial, is he--?”
“He’s fine, but Thorn’s been shot.”
“And who is Thorn?” Fairlight asks as she approaches.
“He’s one of the community from SeaHaven. He came with all of us the first time we crossed, from the compound.”
“I see. One of the ones you rescued.”
“Yes.” I step close to her, turning my shoulder so only she and I can speak. “Please we need to hurry.”
“How bad is it?”
“It’s bad.”
Fairlight turns to the woman, speaking to her in quick clipped words. “In the first aid cache, go and get me the alfalfa, and the Yarrow root. Bring all of it as quick as you can. And the bandages.”
“I have a horse of sorts,” I say. “But I’m the only one who can control her. If you’re willing to come, I can keep you safe from her. But we have to go now, as quick as we can.”
She laughs, just a short, sharp chuckle. “I can handle a horse, you know.”
“Not this horse.”
I see in her eyes the slow realization of what I am saying. “A horse…” she says.
I nod. The woman returns with the requested supplies. Fairlight immediately pulls the bag over her shoulder as she speaks to her. “Bring the others behind us,” she says. “Be careful. The two of us will go on ahead and light a beacon fire as soon as we can. The two of us will go and see about this boy. Be careful, but come as soon as you can. You have time to arrive before nightfall.”
We approach Mare. I issue small comforting noises to her as we approach. She balks at the sight of Fairlight, baring her teeth and flattening her tattered ears against her head.
“Dear god, what’s the matter with her?” Fairlight asks. “She’s like them, isn’t she? She’s turned like the zombies.”
“Yeah.”
Fairlight tucked her bag under her arm, securing the strap across her chest. “What do you call her?”
“Mare. Her name is Mare.”
“It suits her I suppose.”
I manage to keep her calm enough to allow me to swing up onto her back. I extend my hand to lift Fairlight’s slight form onto Mare’s back. She eyed the exposed muscle on the neck and flanks of the creature.
“She won’t hurt you,” I say, feeling strangely defensive at her hesitation. She takes my hand and pulls up onto the horse behind me, settling in as well as she can.
It feels strange, the connection between me and this horse. I don’t understand it, but it serves useful. I sense her hunger, her discomfort at Fairlight’s presence. But she allows us to ride her, speeding up when I spur her forward.
Ezekiel waits at the gate when we arrive. Fairlight seems all too eager to slide off the horse and cross the threshold into the safety of the farm. Once inside, he leads us to Thorn, lying on the blanket next to the fire pit.
“I managed to get the bleeding slowed down,” Ezekiel says. “But we don’t have anything to prevent infection.”
“That’s my department,” Fairlight says as she approaches. “Is the bullet still inside?”
“I think so. Ash?”
I pace back and forth, running my fingers through my hair.
“I know that look,” he says. “What are you thinking?”
I don’t answer right away, casting my gaze to the surrounding countryside, the forest’s edge, the weed tangled garden, with the house now an empty shell of what was once a haven filled with hope and laughter.
“Ash?” he says once more.
I turn to meet his gaze, finally feeling a glimpse of understanding to his constant anger. “I’m going back,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Ash. You can’t--”
“She won’t stop. She’ll never stop. All of this is her fault. She’ll just keep going until she’s destroyed everything. It’s her fault the world is like this. It’s her fault I’m like this, that your parents are dead.”
“Ash--”
“I have to end this, Eze. I have to find her and one way or another, I have to end it.”
He nods. “Okay. Yeah. I get it. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll need weapons,” he says. “That’s the one thing I can help you with.”
He pulls open the door to the warehouse, revealing the hidden vehicles, stores of food, and, perhaps most important, the cache of weapons where Eden had kept my crossbow when I first arrived here. That felt like ages ago.
The sunlight streams through the door, illuminating the space, a plethora of weaponry. Blades, arrows, slings, an array of guns in various sizes. The collection takes my breath away.
“How do you have all this?” I ask.
“Oh, Mom and Dad started collecting weapons long before the Fall,” he replies. “They knew things would go south. Wanted to be prepared.”
“Wow…” I exhale.
“I understand that you don’t have a preference for guns, but you are welcome to anything you can take, anything you might need. I’ll let you browse. Take your time.” He exits the warehouse, leaving me alone with the weapons cache.
My first order of business is to find compatible bolts for the crossbow. Ezekiel is right about my aversion to guns. One might as well hold up a target with a sign reading, “Eat Me Zombies.”
I locate three sheaths worth of arrows on the bottom shelf, just underneath a drawer full of smoke bombs. Two of these I tuck into the front pocket of my backpack.
Perusing the shelves, I add a Bowie knife to each hip and a belt of throwing stars across my torso. The added weight actually feels good. I slip a couple of switchblades into my boots and step out of the enclosure.
“You got it?” Ezekiel asks.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I’d say.” He gives me a once over, taking in my new inventory. “We should stop and fill our water canisters before you head out.”
We follow along the tree line back toward the spring. Once I fill mine, he steps up and tops off his canister as well.
From here I can see, through the trees, Fairlight tending to Thorn. Alma crouches next to her at the ready for any needed assistance.
“He’ll be alright,” Ezekiel says, following my gaze.
“What?”
“It’s obvious you care about him.”
“I mean, I don’t--”
“No, it’s okay,” he says. “We have to take what we can get. I don’t think it hit anything vital and Fairlight’s got the bleeding under control. He’ll be okay.”
All I can do is exhale. I hadn’t realized how shallow I had been breathing.
“Um, Ash? I think you’ve got company.” He ge
stures toward the edge of the gate.
I follow his gaze, spotting a familiar figure at the far end of the fence. Even from here I can clearly make out the yellow dress and matted hair. She stands completely still, staring towards us.
A fury of emotion boils up within me. Carrying this secret had worn on me, this burden which I kept from everyone. The knowledge of what I could do crept upon me, awakening a fury which only the truth would vanquish.
“I know that look,” Ezekiel says, watching my expression. “I’d go with you, if I thought you’d let me.”
I turn my gaze toward him. With some small dawning of surprise, I realize we have become friends. Somehow, over the course of the past few months, a tentative respect grew up between us where once stood animosity.
Somehow, some way, this knowledge now existed that either one of us would stand and fight alongside the other. Without question or hesitation. When had that changed?
“I know you would,” I say.
I cross the path circling away from the firepit. I offer a quick wave to the women and head toward the gate. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover before daylight ends.
Eleven
I walk away from the farm, leading the horse with the bridle, Penny shuffling along on my left.
Her presence remains a mystery. I did not call to her or beckon in any way. She’s just here. And this horse, it only makes sense she eats flesh, just like the others, but still. I find her bloodstained muzzle a bit unnerving.
We keep to the road, moving slowly. Mare ambles along, her head bobbing with each step. As we go, I realize the mental connection between us feels stronger now that the distractions of the farm are no longer present.
And just like that, the same familiar feeling creeps up on me. The further away we get, the more comfortable I feel with my motley companions. Perhaps I am more like them after all.
We arrive at the same place in the road where the horde had found that deer. I wouldn’t have noticed, except that Penny stops dead in her tracks.
“What is it?” I ask, but she just stands there, staring at me the same way she always does.
I step toward her. As I do, she takes a step to the left. Her movements remind me of that one zombie in the forest who mirrored my movements. I test her by taking another step toward the forest’s edge.
She does not mirror my actions like the other one had done. Rather, she transposes my steps. For every step I take forward, she moves one to the side.
Mare exhales in a low moan, shuffling one foot and tossing her head. I remember what happened when I had placed my hand on her muzzle the first time we met.
Penny stands about an arm’s length away from me. I lift my hand, painfully aware of the short distance between her exposed teeth and my bare forearm. Let’s just hope this works. I lift my hand ever so carefully, placing my fingertips against her forehead.
Her skin feels cool to the touch, dry and papery. It gives slightly at my touch. Most importantly, though, my theory is correct.
The skin-to-skin contact strengthens the connection between us. Until now I had assumed her actions were because of my influence, that whatever will they had left consisted of nothing more than insatiable hunger, but this… This feels different.
I remove my hand and take a step back, a small tendril of fear stirring within me.
“What do you want, Penny?”
She takes another step.
“Do you… Do you want me to follow you?” I ask. I step forward, copying the step she has just taken. She walks forward a few more feet, turning to look at me again with those glazed, white eyes.
“Alright then.” I keep after her.
Behind me, Mare takes a few steps to stay with us. We make our way through the forest with Penny leading the way. Finding the path of least resistance, she makes her way through the forest, slinking between tree trunks and fallen vines. I do my best to find my way over the uneven ground, which seems to have no effect on her.
“I wonder…” I say, taking a step back and placing my hand on Mare’s flank.
Penny pauses, turning to look at me again. I’ll never get used to that gaze. The horse comes to a stop and I pull myself up onto her back.
“Maybe your footing will be better than mine,” I murmur. “Okay, let’s go.”
We resume our trek. I lean forward to avoid the branches and brambles around us. Penny moves with a bizarre sure-footedness which I have never seen with her kind.
Finally, we arrive at our destination. I recognize the edge of the quarry from my previous encounter here. Below us, hundreds of zombies fill the air with the stench of the undead.
“What’s your game, Penny?” I ask.
She continues to ignore me, cresting the edge and stumbling down the rocky edge, joining with the group. I do my best to keep my eyes on her to track her path.
To my surprise she stops in the dead center of the horde. The others shuffle around her, oblivious to her presence. She stops and turns toward me, dead white eyes raised to meet my gaze.
“Intention,” I mutter. “She’s doing this stuff on purpose. What does that mean?”
Mare’s low whinny is the only response, a ghostly, haunted sound. I reach down and pat her flank, careful not to touch her exposed muscle.
“What do you think, Mare? Should we go ahead and make camp here?” It feels strange setting up this close to them, but I need to be where I can observe them for now. I slide off the side of the horse, finding my footing. The rumble in my stomach reminds me that my needs are more immediate than those of my traveling companions.
I gather enough wood to start a small fire. The grove of trees creates a smooth parcel of land, covered over by branches, enough to serve as a makeshift shelter.
One of the trees forms a large Y in its branches where I stash my backpack for now. Considering my current security detail, I don’t imagine they are in any danger of theft. I walk over to Mare and pat her flank.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” I say. “I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?”
She tosses her head in response.
A few hours later, a pheasant happily roasts over the fire in front of me. I had caught three, the other two being currently grazed on by Mare, making noisy work of the carcasses, gnashing her teeth on the meat and bones.
I pull mine from the fire, setting it on the bed of leaves to cool. The sun hovers far too close to the horizon for me to get much else done today.
That’s okay. I’ve found my bearings, but tomorrow I have a feeling I’ll need a good night of rest.
I pluck at the food, knowing I need to replenish but not having much of an appetite. The idea of confronting Dr. Donovan does not appeal to me, but I know it is my only recourse. I have to give her a chance, at least.
To… to what? Explain herself? Give all of it up and come back to SeaHaven with the rest of us? That’s a long shot.
I wrap up the rest of the bird and tuck it in the branches of the tree. The night air will cool it enough for me to eat cold in the morning. Stretching out on the ground, I tuck my arm behind my head, letting my gaze wander across the tableau of stars.
Already, I had grown accustomed to the moans and shuffling coming from the horde on the other side of the canyon’s edge, now nothing more than white noise. Just as I lay down, I sense the change.
The chaotic mumble grows suddenly quiet, diminished. I roll over enough to take in the view beyond the edge. The zombies below stand in rows, perfectly symmetrical and shoulder to shoulder.
“What the hell…” I mutter.
Splitting pain erupts within my head, erasing all possibility of further thought. I cry out, clutching at my head, my knees curled up against my stomach. Even the dim night feels too bright, piercing into my eyes and forcing them shut.
I don’t know how much time passes before the pain subsides. Could be seconds. Could be minutes. I let it happen, doing my best to detach myself from it.
Finally, I manage to open my eyes. They are
walking in step with one another, just like a large, well-trained army, marching forward. I see Penny in the midst of them in perfect lockstep, stiff and jolting.
Through squinted eyes, I follow the edge of the canyon, trying to ascertain where they are going. Up ahead is a curve, a bend in the path where the forerunners of the horde have already vanished.
I have just enough strength to crawl along the edge of the ravine, trying to find a path down to try and follow them. The pain in my head overwhelms my ability to guess where they are going.
I try, but the pain only intensifies, forcing me to let go. I’m just glad I have some distance from camp before I get sick. I make my way back to the tree, lying still in the grass. Keeping still helps just a bit, willing myself against the oncoming disorientation. Closing my eyes against the starlight. The passage of time becomes meaningless.
Eventually, I fall asleep.
When morning comes, I find them all there, the undead wandering about the bottom of the ravine as if they had been there the whole night. My headache is gone, but I feel groggy, and my muscles feel sore. I stand slowly, making my way toward the tree where I had stored the food the night before.
The food helps. Mare roams about, nibbling here and there on the remains of the bloody pheasants from the previous day. She does not wander far, but she keeps pawing at the ground, her ears flicking, spraying tiny globules rot into her mane.
“What is it? What’s bothering you, Mare?”
I follow her gaze toward the horizon. A dust storm appears to be churning in the distance. Nothing to worry about. It could just be a weather anomaly.
“Is that what’s bothering you?” I stroke her flank. She feels quite agitated, more so than I have felt before from her. An image drifts into my mind, an image which offers a horrifying clarity.
Horses. The dust kicking up in the distance is a herd of wild horses running free. Pure, natural, wild horses. She feels them, longing to run alongside them.
“You’re still in there, aren’t you girl?” I place my hand flat against her flank, absorbing as much of our connection as possible.
Deep within her, I sense the longing for grass and hay, a friendly hand with a sugar cube inside. She envies their freedom, their wholeness.
The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers Page 8