Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  What the hell’s he doing here? Jedd must’ve been desperate to call him in.

  Pratt had botched so many procedures that Doogan had complained. Jedd, the head of the Infirmary, had banned Biberly from performing operations. Doogan surmised Pratt must be working with Rooney in his absence.

  When they reached the showers, Doogan straight-armed a door, going into a room covered in floor-to-ceiling tiles. A montage of tiles in differing colors and sizes, along with salvaged sinks, commodes, and two shower stalls.

  Pivoting to face Fontel and the Mediator, Doogan said, “Which one of you is going to scrub my back?” His tone tart and fixed his acid gaze on his escorts. Not waiting for a response, he began to strip.

  Both Fontel and the Mediator lowered their eyes. “We’ll wait outside,” Fontel said, his face reddening. “Hurry it up.”

  While fastidious in cleansing the muck from his body, Doogan chuckled, thinking back to Pratt Biberly’s flagrant affection for Keeyla, even after they were living together…

  Doogan and Pratt had been vying for Keeyla’s attention almost as soon as she made an appearance in Tallas. They’d physically fought over who’d sit next to her during lessons. Citizens had gathered for their annual fall celebration. A huge bonfire was built in the main square, people danced around the blaze as music filled the night air. They were simply happy to be alive.

  That night, Doogan and Pratt abandoned all propriety. Pouncing on the young girl, braceleting Keeyla’s wrists with their fingers and pulling in opposite directions. The tug-of-war ended when Doogan’s knuckles connected with Pratt’s jaw, resulting in a knock down brawl.

  Doogan shook his head like a wet dog, sprinkling water in every direction. His memories stirred a spurt of laughter, which vibrated off the tiles. His amusement and sense of freedom were short lived.

  After his shower, he was led back to his room and, as he turned toward the mattress, he heard the grate of the lock.

  Chapter 11

  Aglow with radiating heat, Fabal poked his head out of his constricting sleeping bag to find his body encased in the mammoth bulk of Tibbles. And the brilliant aroma of stewed vegetables plagued his hollow stomach.

  “Finally awake, my boy?” Fulvio quipped in apparent high spirits, puttering about the cave. “Up, up. Vegetable soup and crusty bread for breakfast. Not exactly fresh from the oven, but it’ll do the job.”

  Slithering from his cocooned bag, Tibbles seemed affronted by Fabal’s disturbance. The beast rose, shaking off his lassitude and trudged out of the cave.

  Fulvio whistled a tune while ladling hot broth into a chipped ceramic bowl. “Tibbles has taken quite a shine to you. I’ve never seen him so protective. It surprises me, especially after your assumption that he was eating Keeyla and then your sparring match. Maybe you impressed him, as you did me with your bravery.”

  Rushing to his mom, Fabal examined her flushed cheeks. She was restless. Her right arm was draped across her forehead, and a bit of a whine sounded in her throat as she shifted positions.

  “I think she’s in pain,” Fabal said.

  “Hardly an hour ago she sat up and sipped some broth. I’ve given her a sedative.”

  “She sat up?” Fabal inquired, looking from his mom to Fulvio. “How much longer before she’s better?”

  “Now, now, my boy, give her deprived body time to rejuvenate. Her loss of blood was detrimental.” He offered the bowl to the boy. “I’d like to move to a securer location, but I’m afraid it would be to her disadvantage.”

  Fabal cupped the ceramic bowl in his hands, his nose hovering over the stew, breathing it in. “But, this cave is great.” He blew away the furling steam. “We’re totally hidden from the outside world.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Although, the Mediators are most assuredly looking for us as we speak. And I’d prefer a broader expanse between them and us. Tibbles is on a scouting mission. Possibly, he’ll return with good news.”

  A morsel lodged in Fabal’s throat. The bear’s on a mission? The thought generated a coughing fit, spewing broth on the cave floor. “H—how—” he sputtered, “how does Tibbles know what to do?”

  Fulvio guffawed at the boy’s incredulous expression. Recovering, he lapsed into a short narrative. “Ah, that’s a sad and, at the same time, a happy story. Exploring these mountains, I have seen many inexplicable sights over the years. Perhaps it’s nature’s way of healing, or nature’s adaptation to change through an evolving physical and intellectual state of plant life and animals. I can honestly say I haven’t the foggiest solution to these ramifications.”

  He wore a kind smile beneath his mustache. “Ah, but I’ve taken myself off track of Tibbles tale.” He cleared his throat while stirring his spoon into his bowl of stew. “I’d say roughly two years ago while traveling along what used to be called the Appalachian trail, I heard a spine-chilling yowl. I knew a creature was in misery. Heading in the direction of the noise, I raced as quickly as my, then, stealthy frame would carry me.”

  Fulvio straightened, tightening his abs. “It took me a while to find the source, and the cry had shifted to a low bleating, and then nothing. I tuned my ears specifically to the minutest whiffle. That’s when I came upon a rocky mound, with a gape large enough for me to squeeze through. I have to admit, my boy, I was a bit uneasy about putting myself in a dangerous spot. So, needless to say, I waited and waited until the whiffling lessened and became nonexistent. Thankfully, I had a flashlight and it alighted on a huge bear. There was a large quantity of blood, and my first notion was that a huntsman had shot the animal and was deprived of the bear’s meat. And then I heard a frail snort and saw the bear’s fur move.”

  Fulvio drew in a breath. “The bear was female, and the poor thing had split in two trying to deliver the largest cub the world has ever seen. I gathered the bundle and, with great difficultly, made my way out of that darn hole. To make an incredibly long story shorter, the creature made my life utterly chaotic. Having to coddle the weighty cub, find a source of milk, and then, eventually, victuals for the insatiable, growing creature, I became Tibbles mother and father, so to speak.” He fell silent.

  Fabal gawked with his mouth hanging open. “But that still doesn’t explain how you and Tibbles communicate,” he said, exasperated. “How does he know what you’re saying?”

  Fulvio threw his hands in the air. “I clarified earlier the peculiarities of nature since the final days. I’ve talked to Tibbles like he was a human being his whole life, and after a while it seemed almost natural for him to know what I was saying. Alas, his vocal cords are not fully equipped to speak in our vernacular, so at times he can be hard to comprehend and—”

  “Then what about Zennith?” Fabal asked, breaking in.

  Loosening his belt, Fulvio’s belly jiggled with muteless laughter. “The tale pertaining to Zennith is fodder for another day. Now that Tibbles has returned to take care of your mother, we need to go hunting.” Fulvio glanced over the boy’s head. “Any Mediators lurking about that we should be aware of?”

  The beast shook his blue-tinted, wooly head.

  “Good.”

  Fabal twisted around to look at Tibbles, who was parked behind him, listening.

  Fulvio walked to Keeyla, lowering a palm to her forehead. Her eyes opened, pupils glinted in the firelight. “Keeyla, are you in pain?” he asked, articulating each word.

  Her scant headshake served as her response.

  “Relax, child. Sweet dreams.” Fulvio gazed down at Fabal who was barnacled to his side. “The medicine is working beautifully. She needs to rest and replenish her blood supply. Too bad a means of a blood transfusion isn’t available.” He spotted the boy’s creased brow and, clutching his shoulder, led him away. “Well, little man, it’s time to hunt.”

  “I don’t know how to hunt.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you learned?” Fulvio sauntered to a darkened niche of the cave where weaponry was stashed. Old fashioned swords, knives, archery bows of variou
s lengths, and rifles hung cockeyed on jutting pegs interspersed with an assortment of handguns.

  “Where’d you get all this stuff?” Fabal said.

  “Years of fortitude.” Fulvio inspected the weapons. “I’ve salvaged items from the abandoned metropolises and rural villages. But lately, I favor distancing myself from the decaying cities. I’ve unearthed a pack of feral beings hell bent on roasting my scrumptious innards. One of the many reasons Management initiated the law of no trespassing outside the guarded perimeter.”

  “Management?” Fabal said, stunned. “The Elites know there’s lots more survivors?”

  “Of course. Did you truly think the citizens in Tallas were the only survivors?”

  “Yes, I did,” he responded honestly.

  “Exactly what Management wants you to think,” Fulvio said, unlatching a bow and quiver from a peg. “You have plenty to learn. First, I’ll teach you to hunt. We must be extremely cautious of Mediators, so put your ears on. And we’ll use these.” He held the bow and arrows. “Much less noise.”

  As if on cue, a barebacked Zennith plodded in. Fulvio harnessed and saddled the tall horse, draped the bow and quiver over the horn, and mounted. “Come, Fabal.” He leaned over, clasping Fabal’s upper arm, and hauled him up. “Hold tight.”

  Trotting along the dim passageway, Fabal wrapped his arms around Fulvio, and hooked his fingers on his belt. Zennith stalled before the ivy barricade and muzzled his way through, revealing a cheerful sunrise.

  Unaccustomed to the brilliance, Fabal clamped his eyes. Sucking in the fragrance of pungent pine, combined with musky leaves, his head angled on Fulvio’s spine, jouncing in rhythm with the horse’s pace.

  The noise of birds singing in hidden nests filled the morning as Zennith picked his way carefully uphill, around stones, misshapen roots, and hidden sink holes. Soon, the horse’s hooves clomped on level ground.

  It wasn’t long before Fulvio reined him in. “We’ll hike from here.” The horse pawed the ground as if wholly understanding.

  Fulivo clutched Fabal’s arm and lowered him to the ground, then alighted. Handing Fabal the bow and arranging the quiver across the boy’s shoulders, they began their trek into the woods. “We mustn’t be gone long, so today, a quick lesson. We walk with the wind in our faces so our scent doesn’t forewarn our quarry. Follow my lead and step lightly. Be as silent as possible, and keep your ears open for Mediators.”

  At this juncture, Fabal decided to divulge the conversation he’d overheard while concealed in the log. “Fulvio…” he began and told the tale of the squabbling Mediators.

  “Then if my calculations are correct,” Fulvio said. “Mediators will hike to the cliff base expecting to find one, if not two bodies. That should take them roughly about an hour. They might possibly return to Tallas for reinforcements or canvas the upper ridge and surrounding grounds first. Either way, we should have time—we can only hope.”

  A brief, but meaningful lesson in archery commenced. Fulvio showed him how to string the bow, angle the shaft, and aim.

  Fabal’s tongue stuck to his upper lip as he concentrated. His fingers shook, pulling back on the cord. As he discharged the arrow, the cord scraped the inside of his tender forearm. He cried out, spawning a rush of mortifying tears. He looked for the arrow’s flight, only to find it lying at his feet. The twittering of birds escalated as though they were laughing at him.

  He tried again and again, managing to miss the broad tree trunk ten out of ten times.

  “You’re doing fine, little. Just fine,” Fulvio encouraged with a pat on the boy’s shoulder. “By the way, I might have a leather guard for your arm the next time we come out.”

  “Why did you call me little?” Fabal gazed at his hulking grandfather.

  “Oh sorry, Fabal. I cut the phrase ‘little man’ down to just ‘little.’ A slip of my fat tongue. Don’t be offended.”

  “Naw. I’m used to it. Everyone says I’m little for my age.” Toting downcast eyes, Fabal swatted at a stone with his foot, sending it soaring and hitting the targeted tree.

  “Aha! I knew you could do it.” Fulvio rejoiced with a thorough tousling of Fabal’s hair.

  “I kicked a stone.” He peered grudgingly at his grandfather. “I hit the tree by accident.”

  Fulvio sighed. “Maybe your weapon is the slingshot.”

  “One more time?” Fabal implored.

  “Go ahead, but we really need to get back. See the sun?” The sky was a clear periwinkle blue. “See how it’s laying halfway between the ground and the middle of the sky? I’d say it’s roughly ten to ten-thirty. We’ve been gone for over an hour. Keeyla needs medicine and she’ll be worried.”

  “Okay, Fulvio.”

  Fabal adjusted the shaft against the bow’s cord. Studiously, he aimed at the great oak and slowly pulled the cord until it was even with the tip of his nose. He exhaled to steady his slight trembling. The twang of the cord sounded like a musical note as the arrow whizzed thirty feet and sideswiped the trunk, shearing off a hunk of bark.

  “That was brilliant!” Fulvio clapped his pan-sized hands.

  What startled Fabal was rambunctious applause heralding from a nearby tree. He hedged closer to Fulvio as both of them swiveled toward the noise.

  “Hey, you monkeys,” Fulvio said to the tree, “climb down from there.”

  Jumbo, greenish-yellow leaves shuddered as if the branches were attempting to dislodge unwanted vermin. The tree branch sprouted a foot, a leg, then another leg. Bare feet swung back and forth until the tree regurgitated another pair of legs. His grandfather stood erect with hands on his hips, chortling.

  “I’d help you two rascals down,” Fulvio said merrily. “But you got up that tree. Now, you can get down.”

  The swinging legs sucked back into the leaves. Then two children, wreathed with impish smiles, came dangling from the tree, hanging by their arms. Swaying slightly, they dropped into a pile on the mossy ground. Their infectious giggling mingled with Fulvio’s laughter as he paced toward the children.

  “Meet Swan and her brother, Knox.” He made the introductions. “And this is my grandson, Fabal.”

  Fabal gawped at Swan, a girl of perhaps ten with yellow-hued skin like a buttercup, and a perky nose speckled with freckles. Blue eyes looked liked the color of a robins eggs, feathered with white lashes. Gangling tresses the color of luminous sunshine rolled over her shoulders. She sported a T-shirt, soiled with streaks of green stains, which had seen better days. Swan’s knees and legs revealed scrapes and the mud on her bare feet didn’t hide the extra toes on each foot.

  Her brother was the total opposite, with dark chocolate hair laying on his shoulders, rosy cheeks, and a slim nose without blemish. It was his eyes that made him look twice—gold as the sun. Knox was taller than Fabal, which was no surprise, but probably about the same age. Knox was dressed in similar attire as Swan, a stained red T-shirt, shorts, and mud squishing between his many toes.

  As Fabal stared at brother and sister, he had a memory flash.

  The puppy had been cute—a mutt, half-wolf by the looks of him with a bristling, brindle pelt. The strangest thing, it had four front legs. And jutting from the puppy’s hipbone were three legs, including one, which dragged uselessly in the dirt. Yet, nothing had discouraged the fur ball as he jumped and bounced, wanting to play with the children.

  “Get away from that abomination!” Mrs. Snitzelwertz shouted.

  She threw a paperback at the pup and hustled the students into the classroom. They watched as a Mediator dashed into their playground and shot the puppy. Its body rebounded into the air like a rag doll. The children whimpered and cried as the man tossed the carcass into a canvas sack. Mrs. Snitzelwertz explained how the creature should never have been born, saying, “It’s full of disease and it could spread to our families.”

  Disturbed by Swan’s unusual skin tone, her right hand had only two fingers and a thumb. Also unique were Knox’s wide hands with at least six fingers on each.
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  Knox raised his hands. “Does this bother you?” He wiggled his fingers and toes like flexible tentacles. “I can shoot a bow way better than you. In fact, I can shoot two arrows at the same time. You can’t beat that.”

  Swan hid her arm behind her back and dug her toes into the mud, as though ashamed.

  It was Fulvio who broke Fabal’s consternation and spoke in a fatherly fashion. “You two know you shouldn’t be spying on us. I told you to stay put until the Mediators were gone.”

  “Fulvio, we hate being cooped up,” Knox said, hiking up his shorts. “Besides, we wanted to meet your grandson.”

  “Cooped up? It’s only been a couple of days, and if you remembered, I promised to bring my family to meet you.” Fulvio suddenly brought a finger to his lips, hushing the children.

  Fearing the appearance of Mediators, Fabal eyed the woods. But, faster than he thought possible, his grandfather positioned an arrow into the bow and speared a fleeing jackrabbit that looked more like a piglet.

  “Ah-h, lunch and dinner.” Fulvio lowered the bow. “Fabal, go pick that up.”

  Without looking at the two strangers, Fabal ducked under a tree limb and hurried to get their dinner. The arrow had pierced clean through the rabbit’s chest. Its hind legs gave a final jerk before dying. He tried not to look at the death stare as he grasped the long ears. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he rejoined Fulvio to find the boy and girl were nowhere in sight.

  “I sent them home,” Fulvio said, noting his inquiry. “Quickly, we’d best get back to your mother.”

  Directing Fabal through a configuration of pines and babbling brooks, Fulvio whistled a sharp blast. Moments passed until the arrival of Zennith. Slinging the meaty rabbit over the saddle horn, Fulvio boosted him onto the horse prior to mounting.