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

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The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 37

by Simpson, David A.


  It was quiet and peaceful. Too quiet and too peaceful to be the end of the world. It can’t last. It won’t last. Something would come along to ruin the moments like these. His mood darkened. He mumbled his thanks to Tobias and left the table without trying the fruit salad the twins had whipped up.

  Harper started to protest but saw his furrowed brow and let it go. He’d been quieter than usual, something was bothering him. He couldn’t shake the worries off so he did what he usually did, he double checked things to make sure nothing had been overlooked. Some minor little thing that wouldn’t have mattered before the outbreak but could spell death and destruction now. Almost anything could bring them misery. A fallen tree across the fence. A gate that hadn’t been latched. An empty water barrel for fire emergencies. He grabbed up his Warhammer and headed for the door. Otis chuffed softly and lumbered after him, acting more like a faithful dog than a giant bear.

  He’d check the fence lines even though they had already been checked. At a slow jog he could make the round and be back by the time everyone was bedding down. He’d count the dead clawing at the gates even though he knew how many were there. He’d check the petting zoo and the barn. He’d look for tracks and listen for the sounds of the Savage Ones. Listen for the sounds of engines or anything that sounded out of place. In the morning he’d climb on top of the barn, it offered the best vantage point to look around, to see if anything had changed overnight. He’d visit the burned-out church and the scattered and stripped bones of the riders. There weren’t many left. He couldn’t bring himself to bury them, even though the old part of him felt it was the right thing to do. This open graveyard was a reminder of what happened. He needed to remember. It was the night they became killers.

  The festive dinners and laughter were great. It was deserved. Making time to play and have fun was important. Listening to the quiet cries of joy from the children on Donny’s tire swing was music for the soul. But they couldn’t forget. He couldn’t let them. Peace was just a lull between battles.

  Something was always waiting.

  Lurking.

  Looking for an opportunity to take what they’d built. The local zombies were in rough shape, but Swan reported seeing scores of fresh ones wandering down the county road. Many that had been trapped inside all winter had found their way out, found each other and wandered together in hordes. The barricade of abandoned cars at the turnoff kept them shuffling along for the most apart although some straggled in. The blocked road kept the zombies moving but if there were any groups of bandits or raiders they would see the roadblock for what it was and would know there were survivors nearby.

  Whenever he found burrowing around the chain link fences where animals tried to dig under, a healthy dose of urine from one of the carnivores poured around the area usually did the trick. But for how much longer? How much longer until Gordon led in ten thousand dead and the fences fell? What would happen when Swan or Donny came back with a bite mark from a moment of carelessness? What would happen if one of the companion animals got sick? What if one of them needed a dentist? They were all getting older. Otis was showing gray in his muzzle already and preferred to lounge away most of the day.

  The food sat heavy on his stomach. He felt sick thinking about all of these things he couldn’t control. He had to though. He was their leader. It was his responsibility.

  He checked everything. It was all just as reported. He took solace in the fact that no one was shirking in their responsibilities, but then again, no one ever did. They all knew the dangers outside of the fences.

  The next day, it was late afternoon when he finished his chores and made his way down to the river. Down to the spot where Mom had given Derek her version of burial at sea. Where he’d first kissed Harper and where he’d been baptized into the leader he was now. He thought of his Mom and the promises he’d made when he read her goodbye note. It really didn’t matter where her reanimated corpse was wandering. For him, she was here. Always would be and he came to talk with her often when he was scared or confused. When he needed to let it all out and shed the tears that he wouldn’t in front of the tribe.

  Harper was already there. He smiled. He had hoped she’d take the clumsy hint when he said he was going to the river when his checks were finished. She lay on a blanket, twirling her hair, a basket of fresh strawberries at her side.

  She tilted her head at his approach.

  “Oh my. I wasn’t expecting company.” She said in mock surprise. She wasn’t fooling anyone.

  He leaned his war hammer against the trunk of an old elm and plopped down beside her. The muddy lazy river, the eastern boundary of the park rolled by slow and steady. Otis waddled down to the shore and lapped greedily at the water.

  Nothing was said nor needed to be as they ate the strawberries and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had the braids tied back in a ponytail and he pulled the band free, let the blonde mane fall to her shoulders. Her face had a smudge of dirt from some chore and he wiped it away with his thumb.

  “Now you’re perfect again.” He said softly.

  She leaned in and their lips met. He was the only boy she’d ever kissed and if she had her way, he’d be the only one she ever did. She gazed in his eyes. Traced the scar that ran down his face. She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. They didn’t need to speak, the silence was comfortable and they both smiled as Otis stood on the bank waiting for a fish to get too close to shore. It didn’t take long before one did, was slapped on the bank and then carried over to a shade tree to be eaten as a pre-dinner snack.

  “I can barely remember the old world.” She said after a time. “And all the things that used to be important. I remember I was consumed with who liked my posts on Instagram and who was going to be picked for the junior varsity cheerleader squad. My mom was worried about getting her degree and Dad worked all the time. They always talked about what they were going to do when they had the time and the money. Sometimes I can’t remember what they looked like or the sound of their voices. It all seems like a dream and that this is the only life I’ve ever known.”

  Kodiak nodded. He understood. Late night X-Box tournaments with his friends and trying to get out of chores had been the norm for him. It had always been tough for him and mom after his Dad died, but they’d been happy. His wildest fantasy never saw him battling zombies beside a grizzly bear and living like a pioneer. Sometimes, he wished he was in a vivid dream and he’d wake up with his mom yelling at him to hurry up before he was late for school.

  “Do you think things will ever get back to the way they were?” Harper asked. “Is there any place left to go?”

  Kodiak shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. We can’t be the only people left.”

  They both looked at the sky, the vivid blues and puffy whites of slow moving clouds. They hadn’t seen or heard an airplane since the outbreak.

  6

  Donny

  Donny watched from his perch on a tree limb near the site of the old burnt out church. It was early afternoon and hot. Sweat coated his lithe body underneath the black armor, but he’d rather sweat with it on than risk getting bitten without it. Yewan lounged on a wide branch next to him. They were as still as gargoyles perched on the ramparts of a cathedral. The gentle swish of her tail was the only indicator the pair weren’t carved from obsidian. It was a good spot to watch for signs of the Savage Ones and overlooked a spot where deer liked to cross the road. The Savage Ones hungered and returned here when they couldn’t find prey. They would sniff for a scrap of bone or leathered flesh leftover from the battle.

  It had been a dull and uneventful hunt and they were ready to pack it in and call it a day. Nothing but squirrels and rabbits. Apparently, the deer hadn’t read the same book he had.

  Donny and Yewan both tensed at the sound of limbs breaking in the woods across the road. Something heavy was falling through the trees. He heard the grunts and stifled curses, caught a flash of something as it crashed through the branches and plunged
towards the ground. There was a thud of a body hitting the forest floor and he winced despite himself. Whatever it was had hit hard. He gripped his spear tighter and laid a reassuring hand on the panther’s thick neck and watched. He wanted to run but held his position, his curiosity strong. They were safe here high above the ground and invisible in the shadows of the mighty oak’s limbs.

  A boy older than him staggered out of the wood line, stumbled through the ditch and on to the road. He held one arm close to his body like it was injured. He wore a heavy leather coat, even though the weather was too warm for it. He watched the boy stumble down the road, weaving and swaying, barely able to stay on his feet. He wondered where he came from. He had to have been in the tree for a long time, they would have heard him if he’d climbed up after they had taken their position. He must have been hiding up there for hours, maybe spying on them and had somehow slipped. Probably fell asleep.

  Curious, he slid down the limbs, landed silently at the base of the tree and followed. The road was empty and silent except for the rustle of the breeze through the tree limbs and the shuffling footsteps of the mysterious stranger. They watched as he fell, pushed himself back to his feet and staggered on. Donny held back, kept out of sight and watched. The stranger was unsteady, seemed more dead than alive and was moving toward the zoo. Maybe he was infected, maybe he’d been bit and had climbed a tree to get away from a horde. If so, why hadn’t Yewan sensed him? He had only been a hundred yards away.

  They could probably take him even though he wore guns. They could sneak up within spear distance. He seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings. They moved slowly through the trees, followed the zig zagging boy and watched for others. Gordon’s gang didn’t travel alone. If other people appeared, if they had guns, it was safer to run away and warn the tribe, they were stronger together. The stranger pushed himself to his feet, wobbled, checked his weapons with his uninjured hand and took a few more steps. Donny and Yewan followed cautiously, kept to the shadows and watched. The stranger could be overplaying his injuries, hoping to lure them out.

  They followed him for nearly half a mile. He stumbled over the debris that littered the road. He fell, forced himself back to his feet and left bloody handprints on the road. Donny heard him whispering to himself, but he couldn’t make out the words. He snuck closer and strained his ears. He kept repeating a name, Scarlet, almost like it was a prayer, like it gave him strength to keep moving. Donny didn’t sense hostility from the boy even though he was wearing armor and was armed to the teeth. He looked dangerous but there was something about him that didn’t feel like a threat, more like he was desperate for something. Still, he waited and watched. The strange behavior might be the virus, he could be infected and was in the last stages before he turned. If so, he’d run his sharp spear through the stranger’s skull and that would be the end of it. He stroked the panther’s fur, felt the bunched muscles, ready to spring at his command. His ring finger was ready to tap out the command for attack but not yet. He had to be sure it wasn’t just a hard knock to the head or maybe a fever. He’d killed before but he wouldn’t strike someone down for no reason.

  He watched as the boy collapsed heavily, saw his head bounce off the asphalt. He didn’t get back up this time but crawled towards the thickets overgrowing the ditch. He was trying to hide. No one else was sneaking up behind them and he knew the boy wasn’t pretending weakness to lure him out. If he was one of Gordon’s crew, he was alone. The way of the tribe was stealth and caution and he waited a little longer after the boy finally stopped moving and lay still.

  The older boy stayed down. Donny looked skyward and saw the buzzards circling over the body. He wouldn’t last long if the Savage Ones got scent of him. With the carrion birds overhead, the rest would soon follow.

  Donny watched for another minute, and then made his decision. He turned and raced for his tribe, Yewan by his side.

  7

  Tribe

  The tribe stood around the stranger lying on the side of the road. They watched his chest as it rose and fell, his breathing ragged and uneven. His face was smashed and bloody and old scarring was visible through the puffy blue and black bruising. He wore leather pants, heavy boots and a battered leather jacket stained with old blood. Low riding holsters with deadly looking pistols were slung around his hips. His hair was long, his face ragged. He looked like a warrior, but there was no fight in the stranger. The only fight left in him was the fight to stay alive.

  “We should just put him out of his misery.” Tobias said. “He looks like Popsicle chewed him up and spit him out.”

  Analise punched him in the arm. “He needs help, dummy. We can’t just leave him here.”

  Harper and Vanessa agreed with her. Swan paced back and forth, her eyes studying every inch of the stranger.

  “He could be a spy.” She said. “Look what happened when we rescued Gordon. We can’t trust anyone outside of the tribe. He looks dangerous. Look at all that armor and those guns and knives. If he’s not one of Gordon’s he’s probably something worse. I say we take him back with us. I’ll get him to talk if he ever wakes up.”

  Kodiak crouched over him and started pulling the guns and knives out of their sheaths and holsters. The boy didn’t move, didn’t wake up. Otis stepped in close and sniffed. He chuffed and pawed him gently, checking to see if he still lived.

  “Otis doesn’t know him.” Kodiak said. “Neither do I. I saw all of Gordon’s gang up close when they beat the crap out of me. Unless he stayed behind in their hideout, he’s not one of them. Otis would have his scent and I would recognize him.”

  “Then where did he come from?” Harper asked but nobody had an answer.

  Zero and Yewan approached the boy. They each sniffed him and gave no indication they had ever smelled his particular scent. No growls or snarls, just indifference to a creature that posed no threat to their children. Like Otis, there was no aggression from the ebony cat. No raised hackles or bared fangs. Each of the animals sniffed him, prodded him with wet noses or paws. Satisfied, they returned to their companions.

  “I guess that settles it, then.” Kodiak said and stepped towards the older boy. “Gimme a hand guys. We’ll take him with us. If nothing else, maybe he’ll have some news about other places.”

  Harper gathered his weapons and placed them in her satchel as Donny and Swan quickly put together a travois. They both carried the ropes needed to build one, it’s how they carried the deer back from their hunts. Kodiak eyed the odd-looking belt around his waist, but it wasn’t a weapon. It seemed out of place considering the rest of his garb but it looked harmless, so he left it where it was.

  They took turns pulling him back, he weighed a lot more than a fully dressed whitetail. It was a long and bumpy ride but the stranger never woke up.

  8

  Diablo

  Diablo caught a new scent on the wind. It smelled human, but it was an unknown scent. His sensitive nose took it all in and processed it against the smells he was familiar with. He never forgot a scent once it entered his nose and this one was new. He smelled the sweat and the stink of illness. He set out in a cautious lope to investigate. The pack of Savage Ones trailed him at a safe distance. He was a brutal leader, often snatching the weaker ones to sate his ravenous appetite. The brutal memories of the long hard winter lingered in his brain. The hyena had never felt such cold and hated it. His kind were used to dry, arid environments. He had spent all winter shivering in a den formerly occupied by a mountain lion. The lion had fought viciously, and then tried to flee, but the sheer numbers of his pack had cornered and overwhelmed the big cat. After he’d feasted on the hot organs and bitter meat, the rest of them had reduced the animal to a pile of scattered fur and shattered bones. The kittens in the den soon followed their mother as they filled the bellies of the half mad pack.

  Diablo tolerated some of the other animals to share the den for the benefit of the body heat, the rest were left to fend for themselves. They never wandered far though; the dra
w of the Alpha was too strong. When his stomach growled, he feasted on his den mates rather than face the cold to seek out a meal. There were plenty more of them, eager to take the place of the devoured.

  The hyena missed the kinship of his brother, Demonio. He would have preferred to be alone, but millions of years of survival instinct made him tolerate the rest of the pack. He needed them to live and that dominated any other desires he had to travel alone.

  He hungered. The stinking humans were in short supply. The winter had frozen them, slowed them down to where they were even easier to catch and devour, but their numbers had dwindled and they ranged far and wide to find prey. The young humans inside the fences were frequently in his thoughts, but the thoughts were tainted with misery. He remembered the loss of Demonio, the fangs of the wolf and the metal claws of his human girl. It kept him cautious, but he always circled back to the zoo. He would stay for a time, eat his fill and watch. There were always stinking humans at the gate but he was wary. The lesser animals could eat their fill but if he was seen, the humans inside the fences would try to hurt him. He kept his distance or only snuck in late at night. He watched the humans inside the fence for a time and when he left again seeking easier prey, only the fastest ran with him: The wild dogs and coyotes. The opossums and rats, the raccoons and cats remained at the zoo. They had grown too fat and lazy to run with the pack, they stayed and gorged themselves, tried to satisfy a hunger that couldn’t be sated.

 

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