Broken World | Novel | Angus

by Mary, Kate L.

  The man pulled on the horse’s reins and it came to a stop a foot away from Angus, snorting in protest or exertion. Angus wasn’t sure which.

  “Who are you?” the man asked, his brown eyes sweeping over Angus.

  “Just passin’ through,” he’d said.

  The woman’s horse came to a stop beside the man, who’d looked her way. He seemed irritated and worried and acted like he was prepared to throw himself in front of her if there was trouble. It was the expression in his eyes that made Angus’s decision for him.

  He raised his hands. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  “Where did you come from?” the woman asked.

  “East,” Angus replied. “Been walkin’. Lookin’ for somewhere to go.”

  The man clicked his heals against the horse’s flanks, urging the animal forward a couple steps so he was once again in front of the woman. “What’s east?”

  “Nothin’.” Angus’s voice had been sad. Final. “Not anymore, anyways. Was in New Atlanta, but it fell.”

  The woman blinked, her expression shocked. “New Atlanta fell?”

  “Shit.” The guy had shaken his head, his gaze focused on Angus when he asked, “What happened?”

  “The creatures,” Angus told them. “They attacked. Killed everybody. The Church didn’t have weapons. Didn’t believe there was any danger. It was a slaughter.”

  A moment of silence followed in which the man narrowed his eyes on Angus, then he’d asked, “How’d you get out of it alive?”

  “We was prepared.”

  “We?” the woman piped in.

  The man stiffened when Angus turned his gaze on her.

  “A friend.” Angus’s shoulders had sagged. “She’s gone now, too.”

  Even though the man hadn’t yet relaxed, both he and the woman nodded in understanding. Then they’d exchanged a look Angus hadn’t been able to read. Still, it had been clear they were silently communicating with one another. It made hope well inside him, and he waited in silence, his breath held.

  After mere seconds, the man looked back at Angus, his gaze sweeping over him again. Slowly this time. Then he’d glanced over his shoulder, toward the sun. It wasn’t setting just yet, but it had reached the time of day when people needed to start thinking about finding a place to stay. Since he was still a good distance from the city, Angus was vulnerable, but he wasn’t sure if the people in front of him were going to help.

  “We have a place,” the guy had finally said. “You can come, but you’re going to have to spend the night locked up. Until we’re sure we can trust you.”

  Locked up?

  Normally, Angus wouldn’t have been picky about where he spent the night, but at the mention spending the night locked up, his twenty years in the CDC had come screaming back, and he’d physically shuddered. He looked from the man and woman to the sky, judging how much time he had before the sun went down for good, then once again focused on the people.

  “There somewhere else nearby? In that there city, maybe?” He’d waved to the buildings in the distance.

  The woman’s eyebrows had jumped in surprise. “You’re not willing to spend one night locked up in exchange for safety?”

  “Ain’t personal.” Angus shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder, trying to relieve some of the strain carrying it all day had caused. “I spent ’nough time in a cell, and I ain’t ’bout to head back to one.”

  The man stiffened again, and he’d exchanged another look with the woman. This one Angus had no problem interpreting. They thought he was a criminal of some kind.

  “A prison? As in DC?” the guy had asked, referring to the prison settlement Star had created.

  “Naw.” Angus tried to keep his tone light and unaffected, wanting to reassure the people in front of him. “Spent a fair amount of time in juvie back in the day, before all this zombie bullshit, but I ain’t never been to prison. Not a real one, anyways.”

  “What, then?” the guy persisted. “Where were you locked up if not in prison?”

  Angus had hesitated.

  He’d been a hell of a long way from New Atlanta, but he wasn’t a fool. Even all the way out west people had been familiar with the name Angus James. The Church had made sure of that. They’d started sending their zealots out when he was still in the CDC, spreading the word about the savior of the world and how he’d one day come back to rescue them from the zombies. The religion had spread like wildfire, reaching the far corners of what was left of the country, and had only gotten worse when he actually did come back from the dead. Well, not the dead, exactly, but most people hadn’t known that.

  If the two people in front of him had been followers, it could save his life, but he wasn’t thrilled by the idea of having strangers bow down to him again. It had happened too often before New Atlanta fell, and every time, it had made him feel like a fraud.

  But he also had to acknowledge the simple truth of the matter. He needed a safe place to stay for the night, and his name could very well be his only chance at finding it.

  He’d exhaled, blowing out a long breath and preparing himself for what might come next, then said, “Did some time in the CDC.”

  “The CDC?” the woman had repeated, her face clouding with confusion, her gaze sweeping over him, stopping on the scar on his arm then moving to the one on his hand. Her eyes grew wide, snapped back to his face, and narrowed again. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Angus,” he’d said, giving in because he’d been able to tell she already knew, and it was inevitable, anyway. “Angus James.”

  The woman’s eyes had widened even more, and her mouth fell open. “Angus James?”

  He’d stepped back, his hands still up as if trying to ward them off. “You ain’t gonna start prayin’, are you? ’Cause I gotta tell you, it makes me mighty uncomfortable when people do that. Dumb as shit, too. I ain’t anymore of a god than you are.” He’d waved his hand toward them. “And I never died, neither.”

  He didn’t bother telling them he couldn’t die—that would only add to the illusion that he was something special.

  “We’re not going to bow.” The guy slid off his horse, patting its rump as he said, “And we know you’re not a god. We used to know Jim.”

  “Jim?” Angus repeated the name like he had no idea who they were talking about, except he did. Jim who’d come with them from Colorado, who’d run out of the farmhouse after Megan was born, drawing the zombies away, who’d died the same day his daughter had.

  He ran his hand over his head, pushing his hair back out of his face. Too stunned to say anything else. It felt a little like he’d come full circle, but more than that, the hope that had begun to grow inside him when these two rode up seemed to swell, filling every inch of him. What were the odds that he’d run into someone who knew any of his friends? Small. Miniscule. And yet he had. Maybe this place, these people, was where he was meant to be. His purpose for surviving what had killed everyone else.

  “Jim used to come out this way to trade,” the woman had explained. “Although it’s been awhile since we saw him.” She glanced toward the man. “How long? A couple years?”

  “More, probably,” the guy had said with a shrug.

  “He died,” Angus told them. “Year or so ago. Hard to keep track of time.”

  The woman let out a long sigh. “I figured.”

  “Taking our mutual acquaintances into consideration,” the guy added, “I’m thinking there’s no need for you to spend a night in the cell.”

  “Despite the many stories we’ve heard about you,” the woman added, cracking a smile for the first time.

  Angus had chuckled and shaken his head. “Ain’t gonna lie and say they ain’t true. The Church always liked to paint me as some kind of saint, but that’s something I ain’t never been able to claim.”

  “Can anyone?” the woman had asked, still smiling.

  “Probably not,” Angus said.

  Silence fell over them, but only for a second, then the g
uy stuck his hand out and said, “I’m Dillon, and this is my wife, Mel. It’s nice to meet you, Angus James.”

  Angus had clasped the guy’s hand in both of his, shaking it firmly, and smiled. “Sure is.”

  Mel and Dillon climbed onto one of the horses together, leaving the second one for Angus. Their settlement had been in the center of what was once Memphis, set up in an old hotel and surrounded by a rusty, chain link fence. The second he saw it, Angus had known it wouldn’t last. He’d stayed with them, anyway, meeting other people who’d known Jim, helping out during the day by tending the gardens or animals, and even doing a little hunting. Even though he’d known it would eventually all come to an end, Angus had started to enjoy himself. Had even let his guard down a little. Too much.

  Like he’d thought, though, the creatures eventually won. They broke in during the middle of the night, somehow managing to make it through the boarded-up windows, and that was the end of the little settlement in Memphis. Angus, as usual, had been the sole survivor, but he hadn’t walked away from the attack unscathed, and he’d had to lock himself in a basement for several days following the attack.

  When he was healed enough to move on, he’d once again gone west, stopping for a brief time at the Grand Canyon before joining up with another group in what had once been California—at a winery, of all things. When it, too, fell, he went north. Then east. Then south. Around and around he went, traversing mile after mile of the country, joining up with people when he could and staying there until they, too, died and he was forced to move on, then finally reaching the stretch of life where he was totally alone.

  Then Naya.

  The click of the front door jolted Angus from his thoughts, and he glanced that way just as the girl stepped inside.

  She froze when she saw him sitting on the couch, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding a dead rabbit. “You’re up.”

  Angus stared at the animal, confused about where it had come from. Then it hit him. Naya had gone hunting. Alone.

  “You went out there?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

  She shut the door, secured all the locks in a matter of seconds, then headed into the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Someone had to. The raccoon was fine, but it’s been three days. I was afraid to keep eating it. Afraid we’d get sick. Plus, we needed more firewood. It was getting low.”

  From his position on the couch, Angus watched the girl plop the rabbit carcass on the counter. She removed her jacket—the same one she’d been wearing when they met—and tossed it aside. The locket was once again out, hanging from the gold chain, and she didn’t bother tucking it away before grabbing a knife. Expertly, as if she’d done it hundreds of times before, she skinned the animal, then she turned to face him.

  He was staring at her with his mouth open.

  Her frown told him what she was going to say before the words were out. “I know you think I’m just a kid—”

  “’Cause you are,” he interjected.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to hunt and cook.” Naya shrugged like it was nothing. “My mom taught me how to take care of myself.”

  Angus sat in stunned silence for a few seconds longer before letting out a laugh. It hurt his throat, both inside and out, but he didn’t care. He’d seriously underestimated this girl.

  She tilted her head, watching him for a moment like she was trying to figure out why he was laughing. Either she decided to just let it go or she understood he was laughing at himself more than her, because she shook her head and moved to the fireplace—rabbit in hand.

  Just like when she’d skinned the animal, Naya made quick work of getting the dead animal on the spit so it could cook. She didn’t stand once she had, and she didn’t turn to face him when she started talking.

  “Mom started taking me out to hunt when I was young. Five, maybe.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she turned the spit. “A lot of other people in our group didn’t understand. They thought I was too young, and it was an unnecessary risk, but Mom insisted I learn. She taught me to shoot a bow first, and once I got good enough, she started taking me hunting. I shot my first deer when I was only seven.” Naya finally looked over her shoulder at him, but once she determined he was listening, she turned her focus back to the rabbit. “She made me field dress it myself, taught me how to butcher it, and then she made me cook the stew. Like I said, a lot of people didn’t really understand why she did it, but that night when she tucked me into bed, she explained it to me.

  “My parents grew up together in the shelter. My dad was a couple years older than her, but there wasn’t anyone else her age, so it was always kind of understood that they’d eventually end up together. Mom wasn’t crazy about the assumption when she was younger, but they got along and spent time together, and she eventually realized she loved him. He was the one who taught her how to hunt. My grandparents hadn’t taught her because she was a girl.” Again, Naya looked back, her dark gaze holding his. “They taught my uncle instead.”

  Angus let out a snort that made him wince. “Dumb as shit.”

  “That’s what she said, too.” Naya gave him a sad smile. “She wanted to learn, and since no one else would teach her, she asked my dad. I think she was in her early teens when he took her out the first time, and they went out almost every day after that. He taught her everything he knew.”

  “Sounds like a good man,” Angus said.

  He shifted then let out a groan when pain pulsed through him. It had dulled enough that if he sat still, he could almost forget about his injuries, but the throb that shot through him every time he moved was an excruciating reminder of what he’d been through.

  Naya shifted her focus back to the rabbit, turning the spit one more time before getting to her feet. When she was facing him, she said, “She started teaching me right after he died, because she wanted to make sure if anything happened to her, I would be okay.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “My dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  Naya frowned, but she didn’t look upset by the question. More thoughtful than anything. “He went out hunting one day and never came back. My uncle and a couple other men from our group were with him. I was little and sick, which was the only reason Mom stayed home.” The girl lapsed into a thoughtful silence, her brows pulled together as if something was bothering her, then she said, “If she’d gone, she probably would have died, too.”

  A second later, she shook her head as if trying to push the thought aside, then she turned her gaze on Angus. “I should take a look at your throat.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, trying to wave her off.

  Naya put her hands on her hips, looking more like a stern mother than a fourteen-year-old girl. “If it gets infected, you could die. You don’t know what might finally kill you.”

  He didn’t bother telling her that of all the times he’d gone up against one of the creatures, he’d never once bothered cleaning the bites and scratches. If it made her feel better, he’d let her look it over.

  “Go on, then,” he said, sitting back.

  Naya knelt and gently unwrapped the bandage from around his neck, her gaze so serious it made her look ten years older despite her small stature. Like with everything she did, the girl’s movements were confident and practiced as she examined the cut, cleaned it, then wrapped it in a fresh bandage, nodding when she finally stepped back.

  “It looks a lot better already.”

  “Give me a couple days and it’ll be nothin’ but a scar.”

  She frowned at that. “Why? How?”

  “Told you,” Angus shrugged, “don’t got a clue. All I know is I was in the CDC for twenty years, and while I was there, they injected me with all kinds of stuff. They used my blood to work on their science experiments.” He let out a bitter half laugh, half snort. “Hell, they probably used me to create the bastards that’re hunting us. Don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past ’em. The assholes who ran the CDC were
mean. Ruthless. People without conscience.”

  Naya’s gaze moved to the door like she thought she could see through it and out into the world, her expression thoughtful, then once again focused on him. “So, you’re one of them?”

  Angus pressed his lips together, thinking. It was something he’d considered many times in the past, but he’d never spoken about it with anyone. In truth, he’d always found the idea that he might be anything like the creatures entirely too disturbing. Even if he couldn’t really deny it was true.

  “Kinda,” he’d said then frowned. “I’m old as sin, and I don’t gotta eat or drink. I heal fast, too.” He paused, thinking it through. “I ain’t sure if they do that, though. Never seen one after it’s been cut up, but it’s possible.”

  “I have,” she said.

  Angus lifted his eyebrows.

  “We surprised one a few years after my dad died, came upon it while it was sleeping. Mom was trying to teach me how to take care of them, so she had me sneak up on it. I was supposed to jam a spear through its heart, but I missed. The thing woke up, screeched, but for some reason it ran off instead of attacking,” Naya told him. “We saw it again a few days later when we were hiding. It was almost completely healed.”

  “You sure it was the same one?” he asked, although he didn’t have a reason to doubt her.

  “Yes.” She rolled her eyes and pointed to her arm. “It had a tattoo. A big mermaid. It was weird.”

  “Huh,” he said because he didn’t know how else to respond.

  He’d suspected for a long time that he was something similar to these creatures. Not exactly a zombie hybrid since the virus couldn’t turn him, but something not quite human, either. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and there was no scenario in which Angus wanted to be alive for another hundred years or more, especially with the human race very near extinction. In fact, just the idea of spending another couple decades roaming the Earth on his own made him wish for a loaded gun.

  “It’s kind of cool,” Naya said as she moved back to the spit so she could turn the rabbit. “Like a superhero or mutant.”