“I know, we skirted around them. We’re on the edge of the woods. There is a fire or something driving them this way. Just stay put, and stay safe,” Henry answered, replacing the walkie-talkie as they moved off once more.
The smell of the fire grew stronger, carried on the light wind that picked up as the day drew on. Yet the complete absence of smoke or ash told them the fire was some distance away, for now, at least.
They emerged from the forest and into the sprawling farmland that dominated the landscape between the big cities and the mountains that lay behind them. In the distance, a billowing cloud of black smoke obscured the city skyline. It plumed into the air, its mass so great and heavy the orange flames at its base seemed almost inconsequential.
“That must be what is driving them away,” Henry said as he stood staring at the blaze.
“Just imagine how many there could be if that blaze reaches the city limits,” Taron said. “It would drive millions of them out, scattering them into the wind.”
“That’s why we left. The city is a dangerous place. Letting it burn would be for the best if you think about it. They are mindless and slow. The fire would get a good bunch of ‘em,” Hector answered, watching through a pair of binoculars he pulled from his pack.
“Not enough of them,” Taron answered, his words cold.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Hector said, turning to face the doctor.
“It looks like it’s the power station,” Henry said, peering through Hector’s binoculars.
“I wonder what sent it up?” Taron asked, squinting, his eyes as keen as his skills with a knife.
“Probably just a surge. There’s nobody left to man them places. They’ll start to pop like corn in a pan before long,” Hector said, turning just as a zed stumbled through the trees. He sliced its face clean off with a single blow, stomping on the brain that fell from the open-faced cranium, grinding the jellied mass into the ground like a cigarette butt.
“Dude,” Taron said, watching as Hector scraped his shoe clean on a downed branch nearby.
“Come on, we need to circle back and try to make it back to the camp,” Henry said, holding his rifle before him. “Let’s keep clear of the trees and head up the old Blackthorn trail. It’ll take a few hours, but that will bring us to the side of camp, and behind this flowing herd.”
“Lord willing,” Taron added, casting a quick glance up to the heavens.
Hector gave an impatient tisk but said nothing. As far as he was concerned his faith died with the rest of the world.
The walk back to the camp took them along the edge of the forest until they reached the river. The tide was strong, and it didn’t take long before the first zed appeared, bobbing in the water like a tin can. It snapped and snarled, only staying afloat because of the gasses building up in its gut.
The men crossed the river, using the covered footbridge, and moved into the woods on the far side. The trees consumed them once again, and with the sun setting, a sense of urgency settled in. Not quite fear; that would be reserved for full darkness.
“Keep quiet, and keep your eyes open,” Taron said. “We don’t want them to come crashing down on us.”
The sound of the rushing river had a soothing effect, but also served as a distraction, the rush of its tide masking the growls of the undead, potentially until it was too late.
One bunch passed close by but showed no inclination to attack. They stumbled along in the direction they happened to be facing. The herd appeared to have broken up, which resulted in numerous splinter factions forming. The post-humans showed no visible signs of bonding or being linked, yet there could be no denying their communal spirit.
Hector raised his machete and moved to strike at a stumbling zed. Its body was bent at an unnatural angle, the spine broken. From what they could see in the dim light, it was missing an arm.
Taron reached out and put a hand on Hector’s shoulder. He squeezed hard and shook his head. Hector resisted, but as the zed shuffled away, Hector relented and turned back to them. “He was an easy kill,” Hector whispered.
“Maybe, but what about them?” Taron said, pointing ahead of them where a group of half a dozen snarling, leather-clad, heavily bearded post-humans clumsily ambled their way. Both their numbers and their bulk promised to provide an interesting engagement. The blood caked into their beards proof that the group were more than capable of winning a skirmish.
“Get down,” Henry said as the zeds’ directionless stumbles brought them too close for comfort.
The group scrambled behind some trees, and for the first time, each of them was completely alone. While they knew the others were close by, the realization that they were not physically there, was a sobering one.
Henry pressed his back against the tree, holding his hunting knife, a simple Cold Steel Leatherneck six-inch blade. His hand was pressed against his chest, ready for a quick strike if needed. He felt exposed and alone. Even though his friends were only a tree trunk away, he could have been the last man on Earth in that moment and not felt any lonelier.
Henry’s heart hammered in his chest as he heard them shuffling closer and closer, their growls a continual static-like noise that would surely drive anybody mad should they be caught among it long enough.
He heard a twig snap as the shuffling reached the trees. He held his breath, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to close his eyes. He had to move. Once they reached the other side of his tree, one look back, for whatever reason, and they would see him.
Henry looked up. The sky grew darker and darker. Before long, they would be traveling blind. He swallowed that portion of his fear away. One problem at a time.
Moving slowly, he circled around the trunk of his tree, taking small steps, careful not to lift his foot too far off the floor for fear of snapping a twig or creating some other sound that would alert them to his presence.
He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realized not only had they walked by his location but also the trees that hid Hector and Taron.
They were not safe yet, however.
As the day robbed them of their sight, their other senses became keener. The rumble of the post-human masses grew around them. The woods were full, teeming with the undead.
“We need to get back to the shelter. We don’t have the gear with us to camp, and I don’t fancy our chances of just strolling around all night,” Taron said as the three men stood together once more.
“Which way?” Hector asked, his voice showing the strains of the day.
While they had been working on the shelter for years, having found each other via online survivalist forums, they had not spent enough time mapping out the forest. They knew the trails and knew which way would lead them to what the fastest, but that was a different skill than finding your way through the trees under the cover of darkness.
“Well, we followed the trail to the river that’s now to the southwest of us. The camp should be to the east or thereabouts. I guess about thirty or forty minutes if we keep a good pace and don’t come across any more posties,” Taron answered, almost without pausing for thought.
“Why am I not surprised you know all that,” Hector said, his gruff exterior cracking in the prolonged company of his two friends.
“I just have a natural sense of direction,” Taron answered. “You know, the same way you have a natural sense of justice and … oh, wait, you don’t.”
The joke helped to relieve their stress levels a little, but silence soon fell among the group again as they set off through the trees.
When they first decided to set up a shelter, in the event of a world-ending crisis, they chose the spot in the forest for several reasons. One was the way the trees kept everything neatly secluded. Going off the trails would easily get someone lost unless they knew the area well enough.
The patch they had found was a natural clearing, which over the years they had thinned a little bit more. The shelter’s primary entrance was on higher ground. They had the river withi
n reach, which could be filtered and used for water, meaning their stores could be stretched even longer.
It took them several years to get it to the point where they first tried it out, spending a few days there, trapped with each other for company. The first couple of runs were awkward experiences, but they soon got into a rhythm and bonded with each other in ways regular friends in the world at that time rarely did.
Vanessa did not always join them, for James was a sickly child, and it was agreed by all that for the sake of the trials, it was not worth the risk of furthering whatever illness he had at the time.
While the main bulk of the initial post-human herd had moved through, there were enough hanging around to make their journey home a longer one than any had anticipated.
Hector all but walked into the arms of an overly affectionate older woman, her lipless face intent on kissing the inside of Hector’s throat. She appeared from behind a tree, nearly jumping out like a child looking to scare her friends.
Henry reacted the quickest, not risking a strike with the knife, for fear of injuring his friend, but rather he shoved the amorous woman backward hard enough to create the distance needed for Taron to end her second attempt at life.
The blade silenced her growls with a slick wet sound, and while the darkness consumed her the moment she fell silent, they all heard the liquefied contents of her skull spill through the wound; dripping on the leaves like a leaking faucet.
The trio reached and crossed their perimeter defenses and felt a surge of relief at making it home in one piece. This was quashed the instant they saw the zeds milling around what equated to their front yard.
The remains of the doe had been spread around, the carcass stripped bare of the meat, while thick congealed lumps of its innards lay scattered in various stages of consumption.
The group did not hear the men approach, but the scent of fresh meat alerted them before any attack could happen.
“Today just isn’t our day, is it?” Hector said as he pulled out two knives from his weapons belt.
“I’m fucking tired of this. I want some food and a good night of sleep,” Henry snapped in a rare burst of temper.
Grabbing his rifle, he fired four times. The soft plop of the gun and the muted bursting of the heads he targeted provided little in the way of stress relief, but he could not deny feeling better. Taron disposed of the other two zeds, his crossbow an even quieter weapon than Henry’s suppressed rifle.
“Hey, no fair.” Hector jabbed Taron with his elbow.
“Quit it, man, not tonight. Jesus Christ,” Henry said, storming off toward the shelter.
“What got him so wound up?” Hector asked, kicking the closest downed zed in the head with his boot.
“Well, I can think of a few things, but why don’t we save that for the morning,” Taron answered, slapping his buddy on the shoulder.
Hector held back for a while, watching as the others reached the shelter and hammered on the door. Looking around, he stared at the bodies on the floor. Crouching down, he pulled the two arrows out of the skulls of Taron’s victims. “They still don’t get it,” he said to the corpse, whose lifeless eyes stared at him, the mouth pulled back into a snarl as if even in true death, the hunger still lingered.
With the arrows clutched in one hand, Hector rose and followed after the others. The woods were still alive with the growl of post-humans. In the distance, the fire still raged, and the city that lay beyond it was plunged into darkness.
Vanessa opened the door on her husband’s signal, wiping her eyes dry on her shirt. She knew it would not help. Terror consumed her the moment the zeds swept into the camp. She understood why they had not gotten in contact; it was not safe. That did not stop her from being afraid. She spent the day weeping through fear of what would happen if Henry died. She imagined James growing up without a father, her without a husband. The grief had been paralyzing.
Taking a deep breath, gathering herself, she opened the door. The moment her eyes met her husband’s, her resolve broke and the tears came back with a vengeance.
“I thought you were dead,” she wept, embracing her husband, melting into his embrace.
“It was close at times,” he answered, kissing his wife on the cheek. “Where’s James, is he safe? Are you?”
“He’s asleep. He was worried about you,” Vanessa answered, looking down toward the bedroom area.
“I’ll go wake up him and let him know I’m safe,” Henry answered, giving his wife a final kiss before he walked away into the shelter.
Vanessa, watching him go, turned just as Taron appeared in the doorway. They smiled at each other. “Come here, you,” Vanessa said, pulling the doctor into a deep hug. “Where’s Hector?”
“Oh, he’s alive, but just dragging behind. He enjoyed himself a little too much out there,” Taron said, detecting a slight trace of disappointment on Vanessa’s face.
It was no secret that Vanessa was not overly fond of Hector, but she understood the need to have him around. His callous approach to life completed their group. From the homesteader, the brains, and the surgeon, they had everything covered to live. Having the cold-hearted way of the lawyer meant they had what it took to survive.
ZPOC: The Beginning is available from Amazon here!
Survival Instinct (Book 5): Social Instinct Page 65