“Just had to help yourself didn’t you?”
Bob looked back at him with a goofy grin and chittered like a monkey.
“Sage.” Tobias growled. “I swear, I’m going to catch her in the act one of these days and we’re going to have monkey stew.”
He turned back to the pile of fish and expertly filleted them out in just a few minutes as he muttered about the best way to cook a monkey. When he finished, he turned to watch Bob struggling to clean the quail.
“Here. Look.” He said.
Tobias took one of the game hens from the basket and in a few short seconds had it cleaned and laid aside, ready to be washed and fried. Bob caught on quickly and they worked their way through the pile of birds.
Swan watched from the stairs while the mottled boy focused on prepping their dinner with Tobias. He was even more alluring now that he was awake and alert. His movements were graceful, and efficient, almost animalistic. It reminded her of the way the wolves moved. She could smell the danger on him across the room, he gave off a vibe that was deadly and calm all at the same time. It reminded her of a rattlesnake. He’d be just fine if you left him alone, but anger him and he’d strike. It made her tingly all over. She watched the furrow of his brow, he seemed to be trying to remember something that eluded him.
She wondered what it would be like to press her lips to his forehead.
To his lips.
She blushed. What is wrong with me?
She’d seen the grins on Tobias and Murray’s faces when she’d been a little too eager to help him get dressed. Felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment, again. She couldn’t believe she was mooning over this stranger. He could be a skilled liar and turn out to be one of Gordon’s guys and she’d end up burying her tomahawk in the same forehead she’d just been daydreaming about kissing. She bit her lower lip, got angry at herself. Angry at Bob for distracting her. She’d spent the last three days watching him sleep and creating a story of who he really was in her mind. He wasn’t a lost soldier, the last of his company. He wasn’t a swashbuckling freebooter searching for survivors. He wasn’t a mighty warrior chief of a noble tribe, he was just some guy from Canada.
She shook her head, started brushing River again. She should be out hunting Gordon and she finally knew where to start.
It came to her last night as she lay with her wolves curled up around her, thinking about everything and thinking about nothing. In the old days, if you found somebody laying in the road and wanted to know who that somebody was, oh, say Bob for instance, you looked at their papers. Their high school ID, their library card or driver’s license. Bob didn’t have any, they weren’t important anymore. But Gordon would have left a paper trail. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder why Gordon was in the store when they found him. He wasn’t shopping; he was there on business with his father, she remembered him mentioning it. His pompous ass would never be caught dead buying second hand military surplus in a place like that. Her heart pounded at the idea that was under her nose the whole time. They’d been back a few times for supplies but never bothered with the office. Nothing much of use in there, just a dusty desk and filing cabinets and out of date MRE’s that would be okay for an emergency. If they ever needed them, they knew where they were. If Gordon and his dad were doing business, probably raising the rent or something, she was certain what she was looking for would be in the paperwork. There would be an address. Gordon’s fathers’ address which meant Gordons address. She would check it out for herself, but first, she was gonna take Bob up on his offer to show them his guns and then she was gonna prod him into sparring with her. She had to know if he was as good as he looked.
The rest of the tribe filtered into the old house as the sun drifted below the trees and sister moon made her appearance. They plopped down in their favorite spots and swapped stories while they waited on dinner. Tobias the Tyrant abhorred anyone other than Analise in the kitchen while they were cooking and even Kodiak had learned to stay out and not question when dinner would be ready. Vanessa cracked open the book she’d been reading and reclined in a window sill. Harper put the little kids to studying, while the boys worked on the edges of their blades with their whet stones.
Analise asked Bob to go get some carrots from the greenhouse. She was waiting on him to ask where that was so she could show him. She’d been stuck with Tobias all day as usual and he was working her last nerve. She was disappointed when Swan popped up from where she’s been eavesdropping and said she’d show him.
Snickers and raised eyebrows followed the pair as they exited the house. Analise swore under her breath. Tobias smirked at her and she punched him in the shoulder. Her brother shrugged it off and dropped a piece of fish into the hot grease.
“You guys don’t have flashlights?” Bob asked her.
“Yeah, but Murray said these are less likely to draw unwanted attention. A flashlight beam can be seen for a long way at night.”
Bob nodded. Swan led him into the greenhouse and they began pulling carrots. She brushed up against him accidentally on purpose. She felt him tense but he didn’t take the bait.
He didn’t grab her up and kiss her passionately like in the books she’d read or the Hallmark movies she’d seen.
Her hand accidentally slid across his again.
When he couldn’t control his passion any longer and took her roughly in his arms, when their lips met in an urgent heat, she would resist of course. She would try to push him away, maybe even slap him. But not very hard.
He ignored her. She felt a flare of anger. Was she not pretty enough? She’d washed away the war paint and had put on one of Vanessa’s shirts. It was at least a size or two too small. She thought it showed off her budding attributes. She still wore the rest of her armor though and her tomahawks hung at her belt. She would only take those off for one thing. That was still a few years in the future, though.
Bob broke the awkward silence and asked her about the wolves. She mumbled, still embarrassed at his obliviousness to her flirting. She’d never paid boys too much attention, but this one was different. Maybe she was doing it wrong. She told him about her wolves and how she’d lost Lucy, how she rode a hyena and fought it with her steel. She grew animated at the memories, showed him battle scars. She told him of a glorious hunt in the dead of winter, the tribe on the edge of starvation and considering butchering one of the herd animals. She and her wolves ran for miles and miles, wearing down their prey and coming home with a prime buck in her travois. She showed him the tiny piece of polished antler she wore in one of her braids, a trophy from a momentous hunt. What made it even better was that Donny had come back empty handed that day. She forgot about her silly girl fantasy of kissing in the moonlight and lost herself in the tales. He was easy to talk to and he didn’t just listen to her, he heard her words and understood.
They gathered the rest of the carrots and made their way back to the house. She did her best to glare at each of the tribe before they even started. It worked. No one made any kissy faces or smart comments.
Harper ensured everyone washed up properly and they took their places around the table when Tobias started bring out the platters. Plates were piled high and stomachs were stuffed. The animals prowled around the edges looking for handouts. Conversation was easy and sprinkled with laughter. Bob asked them about their time in the zoo and the floodgates opened.
The tales were somber at first but grew more fanciful as each tried to outdo the others with their stories. The truth stretching went on long after the food was devoured and Swan translated a tale from Donny that included him swinging through the trees like Tarzan. They were silly and fun stories, much better than the truth. The number of zombies slain and the odds against them increased with each telling. Gordon had descended on them with an army of thousands of undead trying to steal Harper and they’d flicked them away like flies. The rescue of the little children took place in the middle of the night with lightening crashing around them and hordes of the undead stretching for mile
s. They boasted of how Bert could burn down a city if someone was brave enough to light off one his farts and that Ziggy could outrun the fastest cars. The stories got sillier and the children got louder but they never shouted. Never yelled. Even when giggling so hard tears were streaming down their faces, they never lost track of where they were and the danger that was all around them.
Bob leaned back from a slice of blackberry cobbler and laughed along with the rest of them. At first it was a creaky sound, like he’d forgotten how. He laughed the hardest of all when Sage darted across the table and grabbed a handful of cobbler for herself and Tobias promised they were having monkey stew for breakfast. When the tattooed boy finally settled down, the others grew silent and looked at the stranger expectantly. He had made promises of his own and now would be a fine time as any to make good on them.
While they cleared the table, Bob retrieved his guns. They gathered around him and watched the easy way he handled the weapons. There was no doubt he was intimately familiar with them.
He dropped the mags from the Glocks then popped the rounds out of the chambers. Wide eyed and fascinated they watched and listened as he walked them through the basic operations and the rules of the gun.
It’s always loaded.
Never point it at anything you don’t want to destroy.
Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to kill.
Know your target and what’s behind it.
They were eager students. None of them except Kodiak had ever handled a real gun before. Bob taught them how to load and insert the magazines. He showed them how to make sure the markings on the bullets matched the markings on the barrel and that there were hundreds of different calibers. Every gun wouldn’t shoot every bullet. He worked with them on their stances. Taught them how to hold it properly and to align the sights. He broke them down and showed them the cleaning sequence, then quickly reassembled them. When each was familiar with the basics, he asked if there were any questions. Every hand went up.
Swan caught on to the whole process quickly and challenged Donny to a contest to see who could disassemble and reassemble the guns the fastest. Bets were placed and the tribe cheered on their champions. It ended in a draw when neither could beat the other consistently.
Bob liked the kids and was enjoying himself. He buckled on his holsters and began showing them some of his advanced moves. He called it gun kata, explained that even though it was a little showy, each move had real world applications. Black Lotus rising was his foot snapping up and kicking the gun from its holster to be caught in a hand above his head. Dancing swans was a liquid move where one gun was replaced with the other as it was reloaded one handed.
“It’s practice and repetition.” He said. “It becomes muscle memory and instantaneous reaction. In a fight, you don’t have time to think about your next move, you barely have time to react. If you have to think, you’re probably going to be dead.”
They nodded. Serious, scarred faces with eyes too old to be children’s knew and understood.
“You can do the same thing with your own weapons.” He said as he flowed gracefully from one position to the next, his arms rippling. “Warhammers, tomahawks, throwing spears and knives all have their own unique uses and strengths. Doing this slowly trains you to be perfect then you pick up the pace, staying perfect until you can do it at top speed without even thinking.”
He holstered the guns, gave a slight bow and quietly said “I have trained my hands to know the ways of war. I have taught my fingers to fight.”
He exploded into motion, doing everything he’d just done that had taken long minutes to execute in a matter of seconds. His hands were a blur as he raced through the kata and he was finished almost before he started. They stared at him. Donny signed something and Swan translated.
“He said you messed up on two cats kissing.”
Bob smiled. “Good eye.” He said, and Donny looked like he was almost ready to blush at the praise.
After working with each of them individually, he suggested they set up a target and send a few rounds downrange, even though he didn’t really have the ammo to spare. The tribe unanimously declined. Gunfire upset their companions and they wouldn’t risk any of the animals hurting themselves on the fences if they got spooked. Bob nodded in understanding. The tribe had long ago decided against trying to get any guns and using them, even though Gordon and his gang were armed. They’d done just fine during the battle at the church with their weapons and animals, but hard mistakes had taught them to never pass up an opportunity to learn a new skill that could mean the difference between life and death.
They were enjoying the company of the stranger and stayed up much later than they normally did. Harper started a campfire and they moved outside into the night, each with their weapons and playing around with some katas of their own. Swan taught him how to throw tomahawks and Donny beamed when Bob couldn’t match his bull’s-eyes throwing the metal spears. The fireflies danced and it was cool enough that the fire felt good. They sat on logs spread out around the fire and Bob tilted his head back and looked at the Milky Way spread across the sky. It was immense and bright with stars, tens of thousands of them. Swan pushed him over backwards.
“Let’s see what you’ve got without your guns.” Swan teased.
She drew her tomahawks.
“Think you can take me without your boomsticks?”
“Definitely not.” he said, and lay on the grass, still staring at the stars, “you’d kick my ass two ways to Sunday.”
“What?” she said, disappointed. “Come on. We spar all the time. You scared?”
“No, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Those were the wrong words to say. Her dancing smile disappeared and so did the others. He had just insulted them. They were warriors and he’d just insinuated they were nothing more than children playing dress up.
“You’re wrong about that, mister.” She growled. “You’re the one who needs to worry about getting hurt.”
Bob dusted himself off and stood, realized his mistake and tried to backtrack.
Kodiak stood, his Warhammer held loosely and formally asked in a cold tone that wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Will you spar with us, Stranger?”
They all looked affronted, a little annoyed and eager. Even Murray watched and wanted to see how the tribe would fare in hand to hand with someone who was older and a little bigger.
“Okay.” Bob said. “Um, do you have blunted weapons? And can you lock the animals up, I don’t know if they would like it, me beating up on you all.”
Swan stepped in front of him while the other challengers hurled promises of a fast coming beat down.
“Oh, you’re in for it now, buddy. I’m first.” She said “You guys can have the leftovers.”
12
Bob VS Tribe
Bob followed Swan to the open area they used for sparing as the rest of the tribe grabbed their training weapons, buckled on armor and ushered animals into the house. He rolled his shoulders and stretched to limber up his body.
“You want some pads or a hockey mask or something?” Murray asked. “They train pretty hard, I mean, they don’t pull punches or soften blows. They usually don’t aim for the head but they might make an exception for you.”
“Good.” Bob said, the scar on his face twisting his smile. “Might pretty me up, some.”
Swan slid the leather tomahawk sheaths from her belt, covered the blades with them and twirled the weapons, making them dance through her fingers.
“I’ll try not to hurt you too bad.” She said “But don’t worry, Murray is standing by with the first aid kit.”
The rest of the tribe gathered around to watch, each paying close attention to spot his weaknesses in case he did happen to beat Swan and they got a chance to try him.
“Say what?” Swan asked as she looked at something over his shoulder and wrinkled her brow. Bob turned his head to see what the problem was and she leapt at him, a
tomahawk in each hand and a war cry on her lips.
He kept his head turned, waited till the last possible second then side stepped her attack. She was still airborne when he gave her a shove, throwing her balance off. Swan hit the ground hard. She rolled, sprang to her feet then charged him again, attempted to do the ankle sweep with the hook in the tomahawk blade. He shifted away from it and she missed by a hair. She followed through, pivoted and brought the other sheathed tomahawk up to slam into his chest. Again, Bob twitched and she barely missed, her leather clad blade only cutting the air. Swan overbalanced and he tripped her then deftly plucked a tomahawk from her hand. She stumble stepped a few feet then turned, angry at herself and angry at his speed. She shifted the tomahawk back and forth from left to right and he watched, waiting to see which she would use to attack. She approached in a crouch, didn’t rush in. Bob feigned boredom, yawned loudly, casually flipped the tomahawk in one hand while he pretended to check his watch on the other. She flung her tomahawk at his head and darted in to grab the other in the middle of a flip. She’d double tap him and she wasn’t going to do it gentle either.
Bob snatched the flying tomahawk, sidestepped her rush and grabbed the other halfway through its flip. He tripped her again as she went by and slapped her hard on the butt with the flats of both blades. She went down in a cloud of dust but rolled away and bounced back to her feet. Her chest was heaving, her lip bloodied and she had murder in her eyes. He held them loosely in one hand and beckoned her with the other.
“If you want them back, come and get them.” He said.
Swan sized him up. Her bottom was stinging from the smacks and he was so quick. She’d never seen anything move as fast as he did. Not even Yewan was that fast. There was no wasted effort, his every move was perfectly choreographed. She was tempted to call her wolves to catch and hold him, but that wouldn’t improve her own skills. Besides, she’d picked this fight, she’d finish it.
The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 40