She was fascinated by the changes of her group over the past few months. They’d gone from typical kids who usually couldn’t be trusted to set the garbage out without being reminded a few times to cunning and savvy survivors. They knew what had to be done and knew the consequences of not doing it. They had all gone a little wild but their situation warranted it. They weren’t living in ordinary times anymore. There weren’t any adults to tell them what they could and couldn’t do and there never would be again. There were things at the gate that were trying to kill them. They had figured out how to manage on their own and they had learned to fight back. They learned from their companions, their animal friends who showed no fear, knew no restraints and didn’t have remorse. They matched violence with violence. Death with death. Savagery with savagery. Their weapons, their animals and their wits were all that kept them from becoming one of the shuffling undead and they never forgot it.
Tobias and Annalise had always been a little different with their pale skin and nearly white hair but now they didn’t try to suppress their unusualness. They embraced it and like the Viking ancestors they claimed, they started covering themselves with strange tattoos. Intricate knot work and rune patterns gleaned from downloaded books covered their arms and legs, drawn on with permanent marker. She’d watch them painstakingly recreate them by the glow of the fireplace every evening, experimenting with different patterns before they made them permanent with the tattoo gun. They looked like relics of the Viking age with their braided hair and battle axes.
She thought about Swan and her face paint. The buckskin clothes and the decorations she wove into her hair. The girl never spoke of it or bragged of her heritage; she didn’t have to. Her native American blood was evident in her straight raven black hair and the dark complexion that was bronzed by the days spent in the sun. Even her choice of weapons, the tomahawks and the bow, were a nod to the Indians of the plains.
Donny had a lot of Chinese in him but he’d developed a range of skills that borrowed from many of the Asian countries. His armor looked vaguely like a Samurai’s. He fought with the spear and could spin it like the fighting staff of a Shaolin monk and he’d taught himself to move as stealthy as his panther.
Cody and Harper were as American as apple pie and neither knew much about their ancestors. I think we came from Germany, Cody had answered when asked about his forefathers. Harper had just shrugged and said Iowa.
Vanessa picked up the battery powered clippers that once belonged to Derek. She’d found them in the back of one of the golf carts amidst empty Dr. Pepper bottles, empty feed sacks and foul-smelling buckets that had been used to lug raw meat around. She stared into the mirror at her dark, nearly ebony skin. Her full lips and high cheekbones. Her father had called her his Nubian Princess. She didn’t know much about her history beyond her grandparents. They were simply Americans. She didn’t know where her ancient fathers had called home but she knew it was somewhere in Africa. They may have been slaves or they may have been free men but she knew they had once been warriors. They had once lived or died by their skills, their cunning and their wit, and now she did too. Like Donny, the twins and Swan, she embraced her people’s history and drew from it to give her courage and strength.
She touched her hair, ran her fingers through it one last time. It was long and unruly, the tight, kinky curls refused to be tamed without creams and conditioners. Her kind of hair couldn’t be put in a ponytail and forgot about. She had to be careful not to get it soaking wet or it could start to mold. When she tried to wear a hat, she had to have it so tight it hurt her head or it would fall off. Braiding it was too much trouble. Dreadlocks could easily be snagged by reaching, undead hands and besides they stank. No wonder the African women kept it short, she thought, they didn’t have time to mess with it every day.
She turned on the clippers and pressed them to the skin above her ears, shearing backwards carefully. Within minutes she was running her hand over the smooth sides of her head and staring at her new mohawk in the mirror. She smiled. She liked what she saw.
She unscrewed the cap on the white makeup and dipped three of her fingers into it, dragging horizontal lines down each side of her newly exposed scalp. It made her look fierce, she thought.
That was the easy part, she said to herself then picked up the razor blade sitting next to the small can of ashes taken from the bonfire. She’d read everything she could find about ritual scarification, a practice by warrior tribes to attest to their prowess in battle. The scars of the warrior reflected at a glance their skills in battle.
She had saved three, had risked her life for theirs and it was fitting that the first marks on her flawless skin would be for them. A reminder to her and the world that even if she never did anything else worthy of honor, this she would have forever.
She made an incision beneath each eye, wincing at the pain and the reflected image of blood pouring down her cheeks. She cut slow and deep, felt the sharp burn and ignored it. This was nothing, this was but a scratch and she would not flinch. She dabbed her fingers in the ash then worked it into the cuts to promote swelling. When it healed, it would leave a prominent scar. She wondered how many more self-inflicted cuts she would bear before the world resumed some form of normalcy.
She sat and watched until the blood finally stopped running and the ash sealed the wound. She wiped the remnants of blood from her face and stood. She looked different and she felt different. She was leaving her life before the fall behind. Her clothes were different, her attitude was different and now her face was different. She let her machetes find their place on her hips, grabbed her spear, slipped the laser pointer into her pocket and went to find her ostrich.
29
Swan
The children all giggled incessantly at Murray as he sucked in another mouthful of helium from the tank and his high-pitched voice rang out. The animal sanctuary had always been a popular place for kids’ birthday and other events so rounding up some party items had been an easy task. Balloons floated against the high ceilings while others were tied off to chair backs. The youngest children chased each other in a high-speed game of tag through the hallways. Otis lay in front of the fireplace, soaking up its heat and snoring heavily. Yewan was curled in a window sill absorbing the last rays of warmth as the sun made its slow descent into the western sky.
The monkeys chattered excitedly, bouncing from cabinet to chair to shoulders and swinging from the light fixture above the massive oak table in the formal dining room. They leaped for the balloons floating lazily against the high vaulted ceiling. Sage, one of the feistier capuchins, tried to mimic Murray and breathe in the helium. Her own voice scared her and the rest of monkeys and they all darted for the safety of Murrays’ jacket. An assortment of gifts lay sloppily wrapped on the table. This was supposed to be Swans surprise birthday party, she was a teenager now, but she was late. Harper had been secretly planning it for weeks and made sure Cody’s job roster had her on fence detail. It only took a few hours to make the rounds, she should have been back before dark. Maybe she was getting a few more rabbits for Lucy who was still nursing the cubs.
Donny kept watch at the window, looking for any sign of her and the wolves. He caught a glimpse of her in the lengthening shadows and motioned for everyone to take their places and get ready. The house fell as silent as a tomb as children tried to stop giggling and ducked behind doors or into empty cabinets ready to leap out and yell surprise.
Swan entered the front door, followed by Zero padding softly behind her. Candlelight lit the big house, casting long shadows. She saw no sign of her friends, just the snoring bear in front of the fireplace and the black panther dozing in the window.
She sighed and hung her jacket on the coat rack, surprised no one was hogging the fire. Well, if you didn’t count Otis but he was always hogging it. Hunting for survival was hard. She was a little miffed at herself for missing a sprinting rabbit not once but twice. Both tomahawks had fell short and stuck harmlessly in the ground. The ex
perience was real, it was tough, nothing like she’d imagined. Trying to outsmart one of Mother Earth’s creations wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. Every creature had a will to live and even the most adorable animals had the instincts to fight back when cornered. The concept seemed ok to her, a small mistake and they didn’t have fresh meat that day, success and her pack feasted. It was fair, she didn’t have guns and an unfair advantage. She didn’t shoot an animal from a half mile away where it had no chance. She hunted with her pack and they killed for need, not sport.
She thought back to her first success with the compound bow and still felt the adrenaline rush of their first kill. A small buck had finally fallen under one of her arrows and she’d watched as the wolves ran down and finished off the wounded animal. She’d thanked the deer for its sacrifice and fell in beside the wolves as they feasted. The meat was hot and bloody. She’d only tried a taste before the wave of revulsion hit her but it was an important ritual with her pack. They hadn’t warned her off. Zero had moved aside to give her room, acknowledging her as alpha. She let them eat as much as they wanted from that hunt before she gutted it and carried the remains back on her shoulders. She much preferred her venison cooked.
Her mouth watered at the memory of the tender venison they’d roasted in aluminum foil buried in the campfire coals. She wondered what the twins were cooking for dinner and headed for the kitchen. When she passed through the dining room, a crowd of children exploded from cover screaming surprise. Zero and Lucy went into a defensive stance, teeth bared and hackles raised, startled by the sudden noise. Swan crouched, had both tomahawks in her hands and a snarl on her lips when she saw the shocked looks on everyone’s faces.
Embarrassed, she lowered her weapons, spoke softly to calm the wolves and smiled as her eyes drank in the presents, balloons and the cake with the thirteen candles. She didn’t think anyone remembered. Didn’t think it even mattered with the world dead. Most days she didn’t know or care what the date was anymore. Murray kept up with that kind of stuff, not her. She was focused on caring for her pack and honing her skills.
“Thanks guys,” she said with genuine gratitude.
Hugs and happy birthday wishes were given as each of her tribe made their way forward. She stood there, armed and armored and smiled happily at the outpouring of love. She smelled of wood smoke and sweat and her face was darkened with soot. A black triangle shape extended across her forehead and blended with her hair. It covered her eyes and tapered down to her chin, giving her a wolf like profile in the dim light of the candles. Her hair was twisted into a long braid with acorn beads and a raven feather woven into it.
She wiped at her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and support of these other orphans. Thrown together by chance they were strangers who became a family. A family who became a tribe. They were all so different, yet here they stood as one, laughing and eating cupcakes the twins had whipped up.
She stood at the head of the table and took them all in. The cogs in a wheel, the members of her tribe, each with an ability and skill that helped them survive.
Tobias and Annalise, with their ethereal appearance of almost white hair braided and beaded with the intricate tattoos covering their alabaster skin, were the fishermen and the cooks. They were berserkers on polar bears.
Vanessa, with hand-crafted ostrich plume earrings dangling from her ear lobes, her mohawk and ritual scars was their quickest when she rode Ziggy. She could dart into town and back for a bag of supplies in less than an hour and she had learned to lead the dead away from the front gate. They’d give chase and she would get them started on the road north then cut back through the woods. They kept going once they started running and were never seen again. New ones stumbled in, usually one or two a day, but she kept their numbers manageable and covered a lot of territory around the Park.
Cody, tall and handsome with the hair he was constantly brushing from his face had shown them how to live with their companion animals. He had held them together and kept them alive during those first chaotic and frightening days and continued to lead them and make wise choices.
Harper was the sister she’d never had, the peacemaker and smile bringer who could see farther than anyone when she rode high atop Bert.
Donny, strong and silent was her hunting partner who didn’t fear the woods and kept them in fresh meat.
Murray, the boy with the books who always had an answer for everything and could figure out how to fix anything.
There was Caleb, Landon and Clara, the triplets they had started calling them, who had completely taken over the duties of the petting zoo, freeing up the older kids to do other work.
Then there was Gordon who was finally trying to fit in and be friendly. He would smile and laugh with them but it sounded forced. He was trying too hard. His lips were scabbed over and still healing from where Cody had hit him. Should have hit him harder she thought. Or hit him more. No matter how nice he was trying to be, she didn’t trust him and didn’t like him. It had started on the first day they met and he’d made them wait forever while he packed his stuff. She didn’t like the way he looked at her either. It felt like he was always trying to imagine what she looked like under her clothes.
She reached for one of the cubs who were playing at her feet, held the small creature to her lips and kissed it softly. She returned the wolf to his littermates when Cody hollered over the din that it was time to open presents. She took her place of honor at the head of the table as Landon and Caleb struggled to slide her heavy chair forward. Clara placed a homemade cardboard crown on her head, complete with glued on macaroni designs and crude wolfs head drawings.
She squealed with delight as Murray handed her his gift, a pair of fine sharpening stones and oil for her tomahawks. Harper gave her a heavy winter cloak with Mother of Wolves embroidered over the breast. She hugged her tight and swung it around her shoulders. It would be warm and quiet and wouldn’t restrict her movements.
Custom tooled knee-high leather moccasins from the twins came next followed by a fine bladed field dressing knife from Cody. She unwrapped the gift from Vanessa, a pair of high-end sunglasses that would certainly come in handy when the snows fell.
Caleb, Landon and Clara gifted her with pictures of Lucy and Zero taken from coloring books in the gift shop. The wolves were rendered in greens, reds, blues and pink and were scribbled outside of the lines. She loved them.
Gordon gave her a handful of arrows for her bow and told her happy birthday, although a little stiffly. She thanked him. He was trying at least. Maybe that punch to the face had knocked some sense into him.
Donny came last. She tore open the wrapping and pulled out the present. Pieces of antlers from the first small buck she’d taken were drilled out and threaded on a leather cord. He’d polished each piece until it shined. Overwhelmed, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
They sang happy birthday to her at the tops of their lungs and Cody lit the thirteen candles one by one with the old Zippo lighter. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and blew them out, whispering her wish as the last flame was extinguished.
None noticed when Gordon slipped away from the party for a few minutes.
She fell asleep that night so thankful for her tribe. She’d been on every trip to Putnam and they didn’t stop at any of the stores where her gifts came from. They went in and out fast, loading up the golf cart as quick as they could hurrying back to the safety of the Park. She had tickled Clara until she was breathless with laughter and threatened to tickle her until she peed her pants if she didn’t tell how they did it. She finally got the answer after tickle torturing Caleb and Landon. Vanessa had ridden in on Ziggy. She could be there and back in no time and could outrun any zombie no matter how fast it was.
As she drifted off with her wolves bedded down to either side of her and the cubs snuggled up for warmth, she hoped her parents were thinking of her, wherever they were.
30
Teddy
They stood ar
ound the buffalo, huddled in their winter coats, as it wheezed and tried to push itself to its feet. Teddy, named in honor of President Theodore Roosevelt, was lying near Bert’s feed trough. The great shaggy beast’s chest heaved with the exertion of trying to draw in breath. He usually stayed in his enclosure at night, it was the only home he knew. He’d been living in it for almost twenty years and rarely wandered very far on his own. For some reason, he had traveled halfway across the park. No one had an explanation or knew what to do for him.
There was worried, quiet talk about the virus jumping species to infect the animals despite assurances from Murray that it wasn’t possible. Donny and Vanessa stood ready with their spears in case it turned into a 1000-pound version of the monsters outside the gates.
Murray insisted it wasn’t the virus, Teddy didn’t show any signs of zombie infection. He flipped frantically through the veterinary manuals on his tablet but there just wasn’t enough information to go on. He hated the feeling of helplessness as he watched the majestic animal suffering.
The buffalo drooled heavily, thick mucus streamed from his nostrils and his eyes rolled back in his head. His body fought against whatever was destroying him from the inside but he was losing.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know.” Murray muttered as he searched one book after another. “This doesn’t make any sense; he has the symptoms of food poisoning.”
Teddy took a deep, wheezing gasp and let it out with a shudder. One last plume of breath fog came from him, dissipated in the cold air and his chest didn’t rise again.
The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 18