Abandoned cars blocked the roads that led to the zoo. The sanctuary was far removed from the death and destruction that raged through the big cities around the word. Its remote location and tall fences were one of the main reasons they had survived the roving hordes of undead in the early days. It was home for the eleven children and their animal companions, survivors of the virus that decimated the world’s population in a matter of days. The rival gang of Gordon Lowery and his crew were the only other living people they’d encountered in eight months. There’d been no sign of Gordon or his gang after the fierce winter battle that left their attackers broken and beaten. As far as they knew, they were the last humans on the face of the earth and they had been trying to kill each other instead of working together.
Kodiak stared at the rows of vegetables in the roughly tilled soil, ignored the moaning and keening that came from the front gate. The dead were always there. They let a few linger as a deterrent for anyone seeking to do them harm and as an early alarm system. The brutal winter had been hard on the zombies. Ceaselessly wandering through the frozen landscape with no protection from the howling winds and blizzards, their undead flesh froze and broke off in icy chunks. The scavenger animals, or the Savage Ones as the tribe called them, also played a part, and never ceased their attacks on the undead, stripping rancid flesh and cracking bones in search of the marrow to feed their ravenous appetites. Kodiak wondered what would happen when the supply of undead exhausted itself and the Savage Ones had no other easy food source. Most of those animals had never encountered a live human, they had avoided them at all costs. Now they had no fear of the creatures that walked on two legs. The undead were an easy food source and none of the carrion animals went hungry. They grew fat and lazy and followed the hordes for easy meals. The area surrounding the sanctuary became home to many of the flesh eaters as the wandering undead came down the road, smelled the living and made their way to the gates.
The packs were made up of animals that had no natural reason to be together but with the plentiful food source, they had no reason to fear each other. Swan had been further into the wastelands than any of the tribe. She told them about the coyotes and raccoons, opossums and foxes, feral pigs, stray cats and mongrel dogs still wearing their collars. They ran together in large groups following the walking meals and the tribe feared what would happen if they merged into one giant pack Their behavior had to be related to the virus, each would treat the others as prey under normal circumstances, but nothing was normal anymore.
She’d reported seeing them tear into the undead and devour every scrap of flesh and bone while flocks of ravens and vultures circled overhead seeking the leftovers.
Before the harsh winter, there’d been no need to worry about the carrion animals attacking the zoo, there was plenty of food wandering around. It was easy to hunt, didn’t try to hide and didn’t fight back. The sanctuary was patrolled daily, everyone took their turn walking the miles of perimeter fence to look for burrowing holes or fallen branches but they’d seen nothing to give the alarm. Kodiak wasn’t too concerned, yet, the animals still tended to shy away from the living.
The long hours of working the plow behind Millie, the old half blind black rhinoceros, were starting to pay off. There had been several grueling days of hauling the nutrient rich compost made from leaves and animal manure while fighting off the flies that swarmed around the horrid smelling mixture. They buzzed incessantly, flew up noses, into ears and open mouths. Tempers had flared, curses were flung but the tribe pushed through it. Every seed had been planted by hand. They didn’t have modern farming equipment or the knowledge to use it, so they did it the old fashioned way.
They had to know if they could do it. Had to know if they could bring food from the soil and sustain themselves. There were no adults to guide them. They couldn’t find old timers sitting in wicker rocking chairs whittling sticks or playing checkers to tell them the tricks of growing the juiciest watermelons and the biggest tomatoes. All they had was Murray’s books, the willpower and a yearning desire to make something out of nothing. The world was dead as far as any of them had travelled in any direction. They had to make it and make it on their own. Make it or die. So, they sweated under the sun, they endured the buzzing and biting insects. Blisters became callouses on their dirty hands and feet. They watched the skies for rain to turn the field into a sea of green. They made scarecrows to keep the animals away and as they ate Ravioli out of tin cans, they talked about the things they couldn’t wait to bite into.
Millie had bristled and snorted every time the crude harness attached to the single row plow was hooked to the yoke on her thick neck. She was old. She was tired and wanted nothing more than to relax in the comfort of her enclosure with a bin full of hay. Patience and bribery with a steady supply of canned beets had coerced her into doing the job and once she got in the groove, she didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t mind either, because they had plenty of canned beets and nobody liked them.
They were already enjoying the fruits of their labor. The corn was full and heavy on the stalks. The twins had roasted some every night since the first ears were ready for harvest and it was delicious. They were small ears and the corn worms ate their fair share but they picked the pests from the shucks and used them to bait their fish traps. It was all worth it when they bit into the first ears lathered in homemade butter and roasted in the shucks over open coals. Served with venison and freshly dug potatoes, they’d feasted on food that tasted so much better than anything from the cans.
Soon, beans would be ready for picking and canning. More stores to put away in the cellar alongside the potatoes strung from the rafters in the legs of pantyhose. Squash, tomatoes and peppers were already canned in Mason jars and lined the shelves in the cellar. It was trial and error but they studied the books and learned from every mistake. This was life and death, this was eating well all winter or barely scraping by and Murray didn’t let them forget it. The old shelves bowed under the weight of the bounty.
The green house was filled with carrots, onions, potatoes and different herbs. Plastic sheeting was duct taped over the windows that had broken during a winter storm. They made repairs with what they had and talked about building raised bed gardens next year to keep the rabbits out of their root crops.
The twins were trying their hand at jellies made from the abundance of blueberries and blackberries that grew along the fence lines. Each batch was better than the last and once they’d figured out how to turn corn and wheat into flour and meal, they’d enjoyed the pleasures of bread once again. It was flat and lumpy with no yeast to make it rise and another item was added to the list of things to scout for. No one realized how much they missed bread until that first loaf was pulled from the oven and they all got a thin slice. It smelled wonderful and even though it wasn’t fluffy they were all grateful for it. Tobias and Analise promised to find a way to improve the recipe and kept throwing meaningful stares at Swan. She wandered the farthest, she should be able to find the yeast in someone’s home.
It was a new beginning. There was no running to the corner store and grabbing a fresh loaf of Sunbeam or a gallon of milk. If you wanted milk, you got it from the cow in the petting zoo. If you wanted bread, you ground the grain between two rocks and made your own flour. All the bags they’d risked their lives to pillage from the tiny town of Putnam were filled with bugs. They thought they’d be fine in their paper sacks but the weevils showed them otherwise. It was a hard lesson, and not a mistake they’d make again. Plastic bins were everywhere for the taking, it just never occurred to them once the goods were in the cellar that they were still vulnerable.
Their food stores had barely seen them through the long winter. The heavy snows and never-ending blizzards had made hunting and scavenging almost impossible, dangerous even. They’d had to run a guide rope between the house and the barn where the larger animals wintered, just to keep from getting lost in the blizzards. The pipes that supplied the old hand pump in the kitchen had frozen.
The heat tape on them needed electricity and they hadn’t thought about it until it was too late. Murray said it could be fixed, they’d have to dig deeper, insulate better and have the night watch pump a little water through the pipes every half hour or so. None of that would happen until spring, though so they melted snow for their water. Personal hygiene was tough to maintain and they had given up on baths. It was too much work to haul buckets of snow, wait on it to melt, heat it and haul it up the stairs to the old cast iron tub. Plus every time the door was opened, it felt like all the heat got sucked right out of the house. They set up a blanket wall near the fireplace and took sponge baths.
It had been tough being cooped up, even though the house had plenty of room for everyone to spread out when nerves got frayed and tempers flared. Board game pieces or playing cards were constantly disappearing, nabbed or eaten by one of the capuchins. Toy trucks and Legos brought curses from the older kids whenever a toe was stubbed. The wolf cubs chewed incessantly, the arms of the chairs and couch cushions all bore the marks of sharp canines. Clara cried when she found one of her baby dolls missing both legs and most of an arm.
Children and animals shared the floor space of the parlor and each jostled for position closer to the warmth of the fireplace. Otis wanted to be inside, so did Yewan and the foxes. They could endure the cold but didn’t like it. Otis hogged the fireplace and no amount of cajoling could budge him from his spot. The polar bears and wolves wanted to be outside and usually slept on the porch. They loved the cold weather. Zero would howl mournfully on the nights when the moon shone bright, scaring everyone out of their restless slumbers. The capuchins were restless and into everything. If it was shiny or could be eaten, they tried to get it.
Millie, Ziggy and Bert wintered in the barn. During the coldest days of winter, the tribe trudged through the snow that was often times up to their waist so that Vanessa and Harper could spend time with them. They cleaned their stalls, made sure the bedding was thick and deep. They filled fifty-five gallons drums with half rotted wood from the unused stalls and burned it to knock off some of the chill. The girls took the souvenir blankets from the gift shop to sew ponchos to help fend off the cold for the giraffe and ostrich.
Bert didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the barn, but he didn’t want to be out in the snow.
He was too big for the house and Ziggy was too skittish bedding down near the predator animals. Vanessa had tried putting her in a room by herself, but she pecked the door like a giant woodpecker until no one could stand it anymore. The carnivores would never hurt her, she was one of the tribe and able to defend herself, but millions of years of instincts couldn’t be changed overnight. Vanessa and Tobias almost came to blows over the situation. She finally relented when Ziggy knocked over a candelabra full of lit candles and the ostrich went back to the barn. They did the best they could to keep them comfortable.
The winter was long and hard. They’d severely underestimated their supply of firewood and had resorted to burning antique furniture from the third floor to keep the house passably warm. On the days when the weather broke, they bundled up and trudged to the forest to carry back armloads of dead wood. The house was more than a century old and drafty. Cold air seeped in around the windows and doors. Thin insulation let the chill in. The tribe stuffed every crack they could find with towels and rags, sealed off the unused rooms, wore multiple layers of clothing and buried themselves under thick piles of blankets. None except Donny had ever been through a winter without the benefits of electricity, furnaces and energy efficient homes.
Blankets were piled haphazardly when they weren’t in use and several times stray embers from the fireplace would land on them. There was a mad scramble to put them out before the old house went up in flames. They learned quickly, but usually painfully about surviving on their own.
Now, with June almost on them, thick green grass covered the fields in the old antelope enclosures. The soil was rich from the droppings over the years and the fence would serve to keep them and the gazelles from grazing on the crop vegetables. The lush green grass kept them sated once they had them all herded in there again. Many of them were nursing young ones born in the spring and they stayed in the smaller enclosure where they were given grains.
Kodiak ran his hands through the long hair on his head, scratched at his irritated scalp. Someone in the house had fleas and his head was covered in tiny red welts from their constant biting. He’d endured Harpers efforts to groom him like one of the capuchins as she tried to get them out of his hair. All of the boys opted to wear theirs long, adorned with beads, feathers, acorns and any shiny baubles that caught their attention during the scavenging runs. After having his hair used as a handhold in the battles with Gordon and his gang, he’d considered going to a buzz cut, but didn’t want to listen to the tribe make fun of his ears that stuck out too far. Besides, it kept them warm in the winter and prevented them getting sunburnt in the summer.
He sighed, just another problem to add to the list of never-ending work and responsibility. I’ll have Murray add flea and tick spray to the list. Along with all of the other things we are out of. I hope I never see the day when the world finally runs out of toilet paper, he thought.
He watched Otis soaking up the rays of the warm spring sunshine. The big bear was on his back, rolling side to side. He had a little gray in his muzzle hairs and along the thick fur of his back, but he was still an impressive beast to behold. He let out a satisfied moan and flopped to one side as he found the relief he’d been seeking. He basked in the warm sun and was soon filling the air with his rumbling snores. Kodiak smiled as he watched his friend, his namesake. He was the faithful companion that never faltered, never judged and was never disappointed if Kodiak made the wrong decision. Scratch his ears, bring him a can of Spam, keep the fire blazing and Otis was content.
He turned his attention back to the garden. It had a calming effect on him he didn’t quite understand. Many of the plants that now stood tall and proud had been loose seeds scooped up from the floor of the feed store after the mice and bugs had their turns at the bags. They just swept everything up from the deserted store into sacks and planted them. They spent hours poring over the pictures in the books trying to identify each one and some were a mystery when they went in the ground. Every seed was precious, their future depended on them. As he leaned on the hoe and gazed over the gardens, he was pleased at the turnout from their first efforts. None of them had experience growing food. All of their knowledge came from the electronic books and files that Murray had downloaded before the power went out for good. The soil was rich and fertile, perfect for farming and the huge compost pile of animal waste gave them an ample supply of fertilizer.
Kodiak was hopeful as he looked at the rows of corn, beans, tomatoes, squash and other plants he had no idea of what they were. They’d just have to wait until they produced something to know. He was pretty sure there were some pumpkins mixed in there somewhere. The triplets were already making plans for the jack-o-lanterns they would carve for Halloween. Tobias and Analise couldn’t wait to try their hands at pumpkin pie. Kodiak had no interest in Halloween and he didn’t like pumpkin pie, but he made sure he didn’t say anything that would dampen their enthusiasm. The scariest monsters in the world hung out around the main gate moaning and keening. Or they rode ATV’s and struck without warning, he thought bitterly as Gordon invaded his thoughts.
Donny, Tobias and he had spent weeks digging an irrigation canal from the Mississippi to their garden. They fashioned pieces of old pallets to make flood gates so they could control the flow coming from the long shallow ditch. It was all trial and error on their part. More error than anything, but progress was progress and the tribe was all smiles when the first juicy watermelon was sliced and shared amongst them.
Murray was wheeling about in his wheelchair energetically, enjoying the warm day. They’d all suffered from cabin fever when the snow was piled to the windowpanes, but Murray had it the worst. Even t
he mildest of winter days restricted him no further than the front porch while he watched the others engage in snowball fights or build snow forts. They tried to include him in the fun though. In their tribe everyone mattered. The triplets had hauled buckets of snow for him to make snowballs with and didn’t try too hard to dodge them whenever he finally shook off the winter funk and joined in.
Murray had finished checking feed levels in the barn. A lot of the hay had been devoured throughout the winter and they didn’t have the means to cut or bale more. He made a note to himself to look into how it was done before the advent of tractors and balers. His companions, four capuchin monkeys, jostled for position on his shoulders. Their eyes were always on the alert for a snack or something shiny they could pilfer and squabble over.
He rolled himself onward. He wanted to take a look at the antelope and gazelle Swan and the wolves had corralled. He needed to get a good head count of the herd. They’d been turned out to fend for themselves following the outbreak, but it made sense to keep them penned when the grass was lush in the expansive enclosures. The whole tribe was excited about the young fawns. It meant sustainability for the herd. Fresh meat and furs to use for years to come if they managed them properly. He hadn’t been too worried about the antelope over the winter. They ran wild across the Midwest and could take care of themselves, but he was curious about how the gazelle had fared. As he gazed over the herd and took a count, he was pleased at their numbers and their overall health. He jotted a few more notes and rolled toward the house. The monkeys could use a treat and so could he.
Bert plodded along lazily, Harper high atop his back. He had been difficult through the winter but he was back to his normal grumpy self, happily foraging the treetops and releasing thunderous farts. He was getting better about being ridden although he was still skittish around loud noises. She eyed the fences for damage or weakness that could leave them vulnerable. The big giraffe was scanning the leaves, picking the most tender shoots of the new growth that burst forth from the trees and she let him have his head as long as he kept moving in the right direction. He had gotten used to her weight and seemed to like it when she patted and rubbed his long neck. As they came over the rise, almost back to the barns, she watched Kodiak as he looked out over their fields. They had shared a few kisses months ago on the riverbank and some long looks, but he’d been distant since the fight with Gordon and his gang. They still cuddled by the fire and he held her hand when they went for walks with Bert and Otis, so she knew he still cared for her. There was something holding him back. It almost seemed like he was so afraid of losing what he had, that he wasn’t enjoying it while he had it. She would remedy that though. She had a basket of strawberries, a blanket and a few cans of Mountain Dew, his favorite, stashed away for a riverbank picnic as soon as the work slowed down.
The Feral Children (Book 2): Savages Page 2