The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3

by Simpson, David A.

  He took another swallow from the bottle as he watched the girls tend to the broken boys of Smiths Landing.

  He listened to Pole moaning from his place on the floor. The compound fracture of his leg had him drifting in and out of consciousness. The girls were afraid to try to set it, they didn’t have any experience in such things. Pole would be lucky if he didn’t die of infection and if he survived, he would walk with a limp for the rest of his life. His hockey days were definitely over.

  Juicy was missing two fingers from his right hand. The boy stared at the bloody bandage with an unbelieving look on his face. Part of him was missing. A ninja with a razor-sharp staff had sliced him as he was trying to aim his gun then disappeared back into the smoke. He didn’t even know if he was remembering it right but he knew he never wanted to mess with the kids again.

  Richard guzzled more booze and told Trish to get the Oxy from Flame. He needed one. Or maybe two.

  The front door burst open and Gordon staggered in.

  He looked scared. He looked around at the wounded and his eyes met Richard’s. His cousin glared at him.

  Gordon shed his snowsuit and moved over to stand over one of the heater vents. His pulse raced and his heart pounded. His broken wrist throbbed and the holes in his arms from Harpers ball and chain had soaked his thermal shirt.”

  “I figured you for dead.” Richard said. “And truth be told, I wouldn’t have been one bit sorry. You were supposed to know these kids, Gordy. You promised us it would be an easy raid but we got our asses handed to us.”

  There were mumbles of agreement from around the room.

  “Yeah, well you guys left me behind. I had to fight them off by myself. At least I put a bullet in Cody, he’s probably dead by now and so is the bear.”

  He snorted and turned his back on his cousin, falling back on the old standby when someone was winning an argument. Righteous indignation. Twist the truth and put the blame on them. He needed a drink to calm his nerves

  Richard eyed him suspiciously. “So, you shot him and the rest just let you go? Sounds like a Gordy story to me.”

  “No, they didn’t just let me go. I kicked ass and got away in the confusion. We could have won if you hadn’t chickened out.” The lies slipped easily from his mouth but no one was listening and wouldn’t have believed him if they were.

  “Look around you idiot! No one was in any shape to fight. Half the guys were dead before we even knew we were under attack! I’ve got friends laying out there in the snow, food for the animals and it’s all on you!”

  Richard tried to rise but his wounded leg screamed in protest. He slumped back into the chair with a groan.

  “Sasha, take a look at my wrist.” Gordon ordered.

  “Do it yourself,” she answered.

  She was pouring hydrogen peroxide over the bone sticking out of Pole’s leg. He screamed as the liquid hit his exposed nerves. Misty and Trish held him down as she gave a sharp tug on his ankle, pulled the bone back into place. She felt it slip into position then cleaned and stitched the torn flesh as best as she was able before wrapping it in a splint. She moved onto the next boy. It was gonna be a long night.

  54

  Piedmont House

  The mood at breakfast was somber, they were lost in reflection over the fight. Murray had cooked when the twins didn’t show any interest as they sat around the fire cleaning gore out of their weapons. Each of the tribe had gone to sleep as soon as they made it home last night, the adrenaline rush gone and the long walk back sapping the last of their reserves. They had won, a decisive and absolute victory, but it felt hollow. It had almost been too easy. Most of them didn’t even have a scratch and they had put a lot of people in the grave.

  The crying girl, her body burnt and scarred, her hands melted lumps, had sapped their fury. Their determination to kill them all and be done with it. She had changed everything, shamed them when they realized they were getting ready to butcher the injured and unarmed. They couldn’t kill Gordon or the rest of them in cold blood, couldn’t sink spears into helpless people.

  Kodiak wondered if all survivors felt guilty for being victorious. If maybe that was why so many soldiers committed suicide, they couldn’t get the images of what they had done out of their heads. He didn’t know how things could have been different, it was kill or be killed, but it was a lot bloodier and uglier than any movie or video game. It wasn’t clean and easy.

  Instead of killing them, they helped the injured, the ones who hadn’t already ran away, and sent them back to where ever it was they came from.

  Even Gordon.

  Outside, the snow continued to fall in big fluffy flakes. The storm had passed, almost as if it had spent its fury during the battle, dying out as the adrenaline faded and the spilled blood froze.

  Murray and the triplets had a million questions about the fight.

  The tribe ignored them.

  Harper promised details later. Much later. It just didn’t feel right to talk about it.

  “They won’t be coming back,” was all Kodiak said. “We hurt them pretty bad.”

  He had been hurt the worst, his face felt like mangled hamburger.

  “I’ll have to teach you how to fight.” Swan had said and made faces as Harper cleaned and closed up the wounds.

  It almost didn’t seem fair. They had killed a half dozen of the gang, broken the rest of them, some permanently damaged, and he was the only one who’d been seriously injured. He couldn’t see very well out of his swollen eye that got slammed into the snowmobile track but at least it hadn’t blinded him. Harper said the scar gave him character so that was okay. The others had bumps and bruises, sore muscles, a sprain and Otis had a gouge in his shoulder but the bullet had passed right through. He’d acted like a big baby when Murray cleaned the wound and stitched it up but it gave him an excuse to be fussed over and hog the floor in front of the fireplace, as if he really needed one.

  The traps and their vicious ambush had worked. There was so much confusion among Gordon’s people they had broken and ran almost as soon as the fight started. Harper hadn’t even been in it. The first gunshot startled Bert and it took her a while to get him to stop running and get turned around.

  After breakfast they lounged around the fireplace playing games, reading or brushing their animals. Kodiak stared out of the window, questioning his decision to let Gordon go once more. When it came down to it, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t kill him in cold blood, even after everything he’d done. He might be a killer but he wasn’t a murderer. There was a big difference.

  He was proud of his tribe. Proud of the way they’d stood in the face of superior numbers and firepower. Proud of all the long hours spent with their animals, not even training them for battle, just being with them. Being their friend and teacher.

  Swan sat in one of the wide windowsills, sharing the ledge with Zero. She cradled River, the cutest of the wolf pups, while his brother and sister tussled on the floor nipping and biting each other, fearsome growls emanating from their tiny bodies. She thought about the life she’d taken. His blood still stained her tomahawk. It was dried now, dark and rusty looking, nothing like the bright red spray that splashed her face when she buried her blades. She’d thought revenge would be easier to swallow, but she felt empty inside. A few months ago, she’d have laughed if someone told her she’d be a fearsome killer and run with a pack of wolves. If she was like this a few months ago, she’d be all over the headlines and sitting in a jail cell. But so would Gordon. He’d shot Kodiak and they’d simply let him leave.

  They had it coming, she thought, they could have just stayed away.

  This world didn’t favor the weak. In the bright light of the day, she wanted to disagree with their decision to let Gordon go. He needed killing. He was too dangerous to let live but the crying girl had stopped them. She had made them see the stain it would leave on their souls. Maybe the snow would take care of the problem for them. Maybe the snowmobile had left him stranded and the crows and
ravens would feast on him in the spring. Maybe one of the zombies would get him. She’d love to see him at the gate, clawing and snarling, his eyes dead and flesh rotting on his bones. She savored the thought, nursed her hatred. She liked the idea of catching his zombified corpse and putting him in one of the animal enclosures. He’d make great target practice for her bow and tomahawks, as long as she didn’t hit him in the head. When the pups grew older, she’d use him to train them to attack. She smiled at the thought. River yelped and she snapped out of her nightmare daydream. She’d been squeezing the poor thing.

  Geez, Swan, what’s wrong with you? She nuzzled the cub and whispered her apology softly in his ear. River relaxed and nestled against her chest. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her head of thoughts of Gordon and his gang. She had to let go of her anger. She wanted love in her life, not hate. Peace, not war.

  Tobias and Annalise faced each other over a game of checkers, each trying to outmaneuver the other as they stared intensely at the board. Popsicle and Daisy lay in a pile under one the windows, seeking to take advantage of the drafty nature of the old house. They would have preferred to be outside in the snow, but the urge to be near their children over rode their own desire. The twins showed no outward indication that just a couple of hours before they’d been screaming ancient war cries and cutting down running men with battle axes. Tobias smirked as he watched his sister make a rookie mistake; he double jumped her, said king me and she crowned his checker. She held her poker face for a moment but grinned broadly as his jaw dropped when he saw he’d been drawn into a trap. She effectively hemmed in his King and he couldn’t use it until she moved her blocking pieces. And if he knew her, those pieces would be there until the end of the game.

  Vanessa sat with Donny, Yewan lay at his feet. The panther licked his paws and forelegs, purring contentedly. Vanessa sang softly as she braided his hair. He ignored the dull throb from his bruised shoulder, thankful it wasn’t his head. The fight had been chaotic and he didn’t know how many men they had battled. They had moved from one to the next as fast as they spotted them, stabbing or clawing, knocking them aside and moving on. He’d lost track of the others, the snow, the dancing fires and the smoke made it hard to see. It was easy to know where the twins were, they never shut up. He’d seen Swan ghosting in and out of view a few times swinging her tomahawks, Zero always by her side. He was pretty sure the snowmobilers’ armor protected them from the worst of their blows and most ran away out of sheer panic. Some fought back, the boy with a pistol in each hand had him in his sights. No doubt he would be dead, not getting his hair braided, if Yewan hadn’t struck when he did. He shivered as he thought about the sickening crunch of the boy’s neck when she had closed down on it with those powerful jaws. He wanted to feel remorse, he wanted to be repulsed at the thought, but it eluded him. They had done what needed to be done to protect the tribe. There was no dishonor in that. He finally had a place. He finally had a family that loved him. He had Yewan, a companion and protector. He felt no remorse, he felt peace. It radiated out from somewhere deep inside him. He glanced at his sister, his friend, as she sang softly and braided a trophy into his hair. A small metal piece from a snowmobile, a reminder of the Gordon war. He took in his tribe scattered around the parlor, each dealing with the aftermath of the battle in their own ways. It took the end of the world to find his place in it and he vowed to never let it go. He’d killed for his tribe and he’d die for them if it was required.

  Harper stared at Kodiak from the comfort of the recliner she lay in, nestled under a thick blanket, a book in her hands. She worried about him, he tried to take on too much. He and Otis would have fought the Riders alone if they hadn’t seen through his ruse. They would have died out there and become food for the Savage Ones. She loved him for it but cursed his stubbornness at the same time. She felt sleepy and sad. She didn’t know how many they’d killed; how many survived the long ride back to wherever they’d come from. Cody, Kodiak, she corrected herself, told them to help anyone they could and send them on their way. She hadn’t wanted to count the bodies lying in the snow when they finally left that cursed place. She’d be fine if she never saw the burnt-out church again. She sent up a little prayer that the fallen found peace and the injured made it back safely. She sighed contentedly as her sleepy eyes passed over each of her brothers and sisters, her tribe.

  The triplets were giggling madly. They had taught the monkeys to ride on the foxes and it was a constant source of amusement or annoyance to watch them play.

  Vanessa hummed softly to Donny while she tied off the little braid that hung behind his ear. Her spears had flown straight and true, she had probably even saved lives by adding to the confusion and chaos. Her Daddy would have been proud. She tried to forget the burning woman, tried to justify it. She never would have been hurt if she hadn’t come to hurt them.

  She felt a little guilty about riding Ziggy in the snow but she had proven herself when they rescued the children and leaving her behind had felt wrong. She was brave in a fight and she felt safer knowing she was close by. Now she was nestled in her stall with thick hay to keep her warm. She’d clucked and gave Vanessa that funny sideways look of hers while she had sung to her and told her how brave she was and how much she loved her. Vanessa felt like she understood the intent, if not the words, and was sad to leave her in the barn for the night. She needed to go check on her and the rest of the barn animals. She finished the braid, hugged her adopted brother and dressed for the snow. She had some salve for the big ostrich’s feet and wanted to spend some time with her. Maybe they could move south in the spring time, someplace a lot warmer. She hated the cold.

  Epilogue

  Smith’s Landing

  The house stunk of decay. Used bandages, empty whiskey bottles and dirty clothing littered the floor. Unwashed bodies and the lingering gangrene smell from Poles leg hung in the air. He had never regained consciousness, just a drowsy fever dream state. They didn’t know how long it would take for him to pass, but the infected, pus filled wound smelled worse by the hour. He wasn’t going to recover and all they could do was make him comfortable.

  Richard hobbled with the assistance of his grandfather’s old blackthorn cane. He was healing slowly but he was healing. The rest weren’t so lucky. Tasha and the other girls had saved most of their lives but the crude splints and the lack of knowledge meant bones would heal crooked and the injured boys would be in pain for the rest of their lives. It was a disaster of the highest order and Richard placed the blame squarely on Gordon. If he hadn’t shown up, hadn’t gotten himself thrown out of the animal park, none of this would have happened. He should have been more suspicious. He should have interrogated him as to why, exactly, did a bunch of little kids want him gone. He tucked the pistol behind his belt, put on his heavy coat and limped his way to where Gordon sat watching a movie.

  “We need to talk cousin.” Richard told him, then under his breath “Outside, where the others can’t hear.”

  “About what?” Gordon asked, his eyes never leaving the screen. “It’s dark, can’t it wait till morning?”

  Richards face twitched in barely controlled rage and it took him a moment before he trusted his voice.

  “About moving to a different house.” he said, as nonchalantly as he could, “and other things. We need to make some changes.”

  Gordon sighed, hit pause. “Sure.”

  “After you.” Richard insisted.

  Gordon stood and put on his own coat, careful not to jostle his wrist. He led the way to the double patio doors, stepped outside into the cold night air and turned to look at his cousin. Richard leaned heavily on the cane as he limped past him and over to the patio table. The propane heater was on and the covered area actually wasn’t too chilly. There was a dusty bottle of wine and a single glass on the table top and Gordon started to relax. He knew what this was about. Richard needed him to step up. Take charge again since his men were either crippled or stayed too drunk all the time. It had been
nearly a week, the guys needed to get over being mad at him, it wasn’t his fault the raid had gone wrong.

  There was only one chair and Richard sat heavily with a grunt then rubbed the bandages covering the gashes on his chest.

  “These things itch like crazy.” he complained and picked up the bottle to fill the glass.

  “This was one of dear old dad’s favorites.” he said. “A French Red from nineteen seventy-two.”

  Gordon looked around for another chair but they were all gone.

  “You won’t need one.” Richard said. “You’re not staying long.”

  He hit the remote on the pool cover and it slid smoothly back. The dead inside were slow but they weren’t frozen. Mouths full of rotted teeth started gnashing and hands slowly went up, reaching for them.

  Gordon’s eyes darted around, looking for an exit. He didn’t like the way this was going. The single chair and single glass took on a whole new meaning.

  “So, what did you want to talk about? It’s cold out here.”

  Richard pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and laid it on the table. His hand remained on it, ready to snatch it up.

  “You damned near got us all killed. For what? Hurt feelings?”

  “Hey, don’t put this all on me, you wanted to get those girls and so did all of the other guys, and don’t forget about Smoke. You wanted revenge for that too.”

  “We wouldn’t even know about them if you hadn’t come in here spouting off about it. You said they were weak and easy targets. You said they were just little kids who would be a pushover. You lived there for months and you didn’t know how vicious they were? You had no idea they were so savage? My God, they ride polar bears! You didn’t think to mention that? You led us right into a trap, Gordy. They kicked our asses! My boys are crippled or dead, our machines are trashed. No, this is all you cousin.” He hissed the last word.