Rested and refreshed, they raced silently onward, the miles falling away and the moon casting long shadows in the dirt. When the trail veered off to the west, they went over a fence and kept running north through overgrown cornfields. They came to a farmhouse facing a narrow one lane road. She’d been here many times, there was an upright piano in the family room and she practiced on it sometimes. She gave the wolves a minute to lap water from a cow trough and strained her ears to listen. Sound carried a long way without the noise pollution of the old world. She didn’t hear anything except the frogs croaking and the crickets chirping. She sat on a stump to rest her legs, checked the map by the moonlight to get her bearings and found the county road she wanted. She’d never been any farther North, didn’t know the lay of the land. She could follow the road for a few miles before it crossed a bigger road, one that lead on a pretty straight path up to Smiths Landing. Dawn was lightening the horizon but she was getting close, they had run about fifteen miles through the night. Not bad, she told herself. Not bad. That was more than a half marathon and she’d been fully armored, carrying weapons and wearing boots. She took a drink of water and calculated the time if she could keep up the pace. She should have that dirtbag in her crosshairs by early afternoon.
Skull peeked nervously around the curtains again and his eyes darted up and down the road, looking for their ride home or worse, another horde of the undead. They’d stayed hidden and still the first night when one came stumbling by an hour after the four wheelers had left them. He was in the living room of a single wide trailer where they’d spent the last day and a half. Those jerks should have been back by now, he’d bet money that Gordon was the reason for the delay. He was pissed off at him for crashing the Polaris. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t seen the pot hole. It jerked the steering wheel out of his hands and they wound up in the ditch. That wasn’t so bad. Ripping the tire off when he hit the driveway culvert was, though. He was the chauffer of the four seater model but how was he supposed to see it? They were running without lights. Gordon had flipped out and told Skull he could wait there until he could send someone back to get him.
“You, too,” he yelled at Blind Mike who had been in the back seat, “You should have been watching better!”
They could have doubled up with the others but nobody wanted to share. It was too far of a drive to be cramped up. Gordon took over one of the other quads and left them behind.
Somebody will come back to get you. He’d said. That had been yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t going to send anyone, maybe this was one of those cruel lessons and they would have to walk back. It was daylight again, the second long night was over. Mike and Skull were hungry and hungover from bottles of Old Crow they’d found in the cupboard. Whoever had lived here bought his rotgut by the case. The grill on the deck still had propane in the tank so they dumped cans of soup and a box of macaroni and cheese in a sauce pan then set it over the flames. Something in their bellies might make the pounding headache go away. Or it might make them throw up. That would probably be for the best.
Neither saw the shadow that flickered through the trees or heard the soft footfalls of padded feet. Blind Mike had broken his glasses months ago and squinted at everything and Skull’s headache was worse than ever.
“Somebody should have been back by now.” Mike said for the hundredth time. “I think we’re gonna have to walk.”
“It’s too far.” Skull complained, “It’s at least five miles, nobody can walk that far.”
Swan and the wolves held their position in the trees. She watched and listened. There were only two of them visible, but more could be inside. She’d found the broken Polaris abandoned on the highway and had barely avoided being spotted by the boys in the trailer. She was disappointed Gordon wasn’t one of them, but not surprised.
She watched for another ten minutes but when they split the soup between them, it was obvious they were the only two. They both had rifles leaning against the tin of the trailer so she would have to be patient. Maybe follow until they were tired and sink arrows into their backs when they weren’t paying attention.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she heard one of them say as he rushed into the house.
“Gross, man,” the other one yelled, “Now the place is gonna stink like barf! Why didn’t you puke outside?”
He cursed and stepped off the deck, flapping his hand in front of his face to wave away the smell. Swan kept a calming hand on her wolves and shushed the quiet growls in their throats. She doubted the boys could hear them; they were making all kinds of noise. They were acting as if they’d never been out in the wild before. They didn’t know the rules of survival. Mike slung his rifle and walked to the wooden shed at the end of the driveway. Maybe he’d get lucky and find an old pair of glasses in it. She knocked an arrow and tracked him. When he kicked the door open and started rummaging around inside, she slipped from the trees and moved swiftly through the overgrown field. When he stepped back into the sunlight his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. The wolf girl was grinning at him through a soot blackened face. She had a tomahawk in each hand and her pack was crouched, ready to spring. He was too shocked to move.
“Capture.” She whispered.
The wolves sprang on the boy so quickly, he didn’t have time to scream before he was driven to the ground and had his throat in the vise like jaws of Zero. River and Meadow each had an arm and Valley had one of his legs in their jaws.
“Don’t fight them.” The wolf girl said, close to his ear. “They won’t kill you unless I tell them to.”
Mike felt the sharp teeth punch through his skin but they stopped, they didn’t rip and tear and shred him to bits. Blood trickled down his neck and the breath he was going to use to scream came out in a whimper. He could feel his whole body vibrating, coming from the deep rumble of their low growls. He felt the hot breath of the wolf on his face, felt the teeth sink in a little deeper when he tried to move.
“Shhhh.” Swan said. “Be still. You’re making them nervous.”
Mike squeaked and tried to be very, very still.
“I have questions for you.” She said. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
“Hold.” She told her pack and repositioned the grip on her tomahawks.
She eased over to the corner of the trailer, looked back at her pack and issued the command again.
“Hold.” She told Zero, sternly this time.
She didn’t want him getting excited and killing the guy because she wanted a few words with him first. She only needed to talk to one, her steel would talk to the other guy.
Swan sprinted around to the front door, shouldered it open and ran for the bathroom where she could hear the other boy retching. She kicked it open and nearly gagged. He was sitting on the toilet and throwing up into the bathtub. Last night’s whiskey and the macaroni soup breakfast was coming out of both ends. She nearly threw up herself and at the very last possible second, just as she was swinging the spikes to bury them in the back of his head, she turned the hilt and slammed him with the flat sides. He collapsed in a boneless heap and fell off the toilet, still spewing foul smelling liquids. Swan gagged and backed out of the room, her stomach heaved and she covered her mouth. Something creaked behind her and she spun just in time to see the stock of a rifle smash into her face.
Shaggy stood shakily over her, his whole world reeling. He’d been laying on the couch with a blinding hangover, too sick to join the other two on the deck. When she smashed through the door he wanted to yell at her to stop making so much noise but realized who she was before he opened his mouth. He stood over her and tried to get the hallway to stop tilting when he heard a four-wheeler pull up in the drive.
“I got one of them!” He said in a yell that hurt. “I got one of the brats! Help me with her. The others must be close!”
Cowboy hopped out of the side by side, hurried inside and they drug her out, looking over their shoulders the whole time. They’d been at the massacre last winter, the
y knew the kids could be hiding in the woods. The psycho kids riding the polar bears could be anywhere.
“Where’s the others?” He asked as they tossed her in the back of the four-seater.
“She killed Skull.” Shaggy yelled as he climbed in. “I don’t know where Mike is. Probably killed him, too. Let’s go, man. We’ve gotta go!”
Zero had been waiting for a command. He heard the machine pull up, he heard voices of the enemy but he didn’t hear his wolf mother. He growled and listened and waited. Drool ran over his lips and dripped on to the boy clamped in his jaws. She’d never made them hold this long before and he quivered in anticipation.
“Mike!” Cowboy shouted, half in the quad, hesitant to leave anyone behind. “Come on man, the kids are here!”
Mike shook in terror and said nothing. Maybe the wolves would let him go, maybe they would go see what happened to the savage girl.
Swan moaned from the backseat and tried to sit up.
“Zero?” she called, her voice thick and uncertain.
The wolf ripped the boys’ throat out and spun away as he gurgled and gasped for air. The cubs released and joined him as he ran towards their mistress.
Cowboy yelped when he saw them come around the end of the trailer, blood on their muzzles and snarls in their throats. He dove in and floored the buggy. Swan was thrown to the floor as the boy bounced through the ditch and hit the road in a squall of tires. Four growling wolves were right on their tail.
Swan pulled herself up and tried to roll out but Shaggy hit her over and over, cursing and screaming with every punch. She tried to fend him off but she could barely see, both eyes were swelling shut and her nose was smashed flat. He grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her head against the roll bar until she stopped moving then he heaved his guts out over the half door. Whiskey and fear poured out of him, splashed down the side of the rig and left a trail on the road. Cowboy kept the gas pedal buried all the way back to Smiths Landing.
Zero whined in confusion. Her scent was gone. She’d been carried away by a loud animal with the dirty smoke smell. It was too fast for him to catch and its spore disappeared on the breeze. He couldn’t follow it. The cubs sniffed at the foul smell in the road left by one of the men but that was all there was. Her smell simply stopped.
33
Gordon
Gordon felt a thrill unlike any other he’d ever felt. Swan lay on the floor in front of him, trussed up and unconscious. Matted blood caked her hair and streaked her face. They had done a number on her, both eyes were purple and swollen and her nose had a definite lean to it. He propped his feet on her still form and leaned back in his chair. The voice that sounded like his father congratulated him, then berated him for only taking two from the tribe.
“Shut up, old man,” he muttered under his breath. He sipped from a crystal highball glass filled with two fingers of seventeen-year-old Scotch while he smoked a cigar. The Scotch didn’t do anything to silence the old man but at least the alcohol numbed the scratching sounds that plagued him. He nudged the immobilized girl with his foot. She didn’t move. This was where she truly belonged, at his feet. He vowed to break her mentally and physically before he put her out of his misery. She was too dangerous to leave alive. He smiled at the thought of her head mounted beside his other pretties on the fence or maybe wandering around in the pool.
It was a little early in the day to start boozing it up but the capture of Swan called for a celebration.
“Gentlemen, the bar is open, and the ladies are hot and ready for you. Good work, boys. We struck a lethal blow against our enemies and now, we’ll pick them off at our leisure. Two down, nine to go. Trish, get over here and top this off.” He held up his glass. “Misty, you and Sasha get this trash off of my rug and clean her up. She smells like a wet dog. Nobody touches her until I say so. She’s our guest of honor and I want her wide awake for what she’s got coming.”
Cheers went up from the boys as they made their way to the bar and the three women moved quickly to carry out Gordon’s orders. They kept their heads lowered, their eyes averted and hoped the gang would pass out before they got drunk and mean. The boys were downing shots as fast as they could, Gordon didn’t let them drink very often.
Misty and Sasha struggled with Swan’s limp form and tried not to hurt her any more than she already was. The poor girl had just entered the bowels of hell.
34
Pursuit
The endless miles were wearing on Donny, but he kept his pace, he didn’t stop and he didn’t slow. He’d been running for hours without rest. He had to catch her, not to stop her but slow her down so they could finish this the way they started. Together. The tribe against the world. He could feel the blisters starting to form on his heels and took a moment to tighten his boots and share a piece of smoked meat with his panther. She knew they were hunting Swan, she sensed the sadness and urgency. When Donny couldn’t track her on the roads, Yewan could. He’d never been this deep into her hunting grounds, they respected each other’s boundaries. He dragged his spear in the dirt, left a distinct marker and pushed onward. When they came to asphalt, he’d slash the trunks of trees or make arrows from fallen branches to signal which way he went. His heart ached for Murray and Swan. He’d never had friends before the outbreak and Murray was gone forever. Swan too, if he faltered. She was outnumbered and outgunned and she thought she was invincible. She took too many chances. He was angry at her for running off, but he understood. He felt the same way but he had learned from a lifetime of hard knocks that rash decisions had harsh consequences.
He found the pond where she had refilled her bottle, rested and eaten the cattails. He let Yewan drink her fill then they pushed on. His legs ached and the blisters were getting worse. He was gaining on her though. This was the third spot he found where she’d taken a break, had sat and ate berries or mushrooms. He didn’t have the luxury of rest, he had to catch up. It was late afternoon, he’d been running all day and he knew he was closing in on her. He hoped more than anything he’d find her sleeping in a barn or something. He picked up the pace when they hit asphalt again and ignored the wetness in his socks as they filled with blood from the busted blisters. He was close, he could feel it.
He ate up the miles, ignored the fatigue in his limbs and the pain in his feet. He slowed as he neared a wrecked Polaris, wary and watching. The other cars or trucks he’d passed had the long-abandoned look of heavy dust, flat tires and piles of leaves mounded against them. This one was fresh, it hadn’t been there for long. It was in the ditch where it had hit the culvert and broke the front wheel. It was bent at an odd angle and the tire was shredded. His worry ratcheted up a notch. Had she caught up to them, caused one of them to crash? He didn’t see any of her arrows or blood trails but Yewan led him off the road, into the woods. Hatred and anger filled his heart as he imagined all of the hell he would bring down on anyone who’d harmed her. He found her path and saw where she’d stood for a while, apparently watching a mobile home that had been decrepit years before the fall. Yewan flicked her tail back and forth and he knew she sensed something was wrong. Maybe Swan was inside. More likely some of Gordons gang waiting for someone to come get them. He stoked the midnight fur of his companion, readied his spear and crouched low to hide in the waist high grass. Her and the wolves trail was easy to follow and he smelled death before he saw it. The pack had savaged one of Gordons men, the body was splayed out in the dirt next to a garden shed, its throat ripped open. Somebody had thrown a tarp over the dead boy but it had blown off. Ants and other insects covered his skin, each taking tiny little bites and carrying it back to their nest. They would feast for months.
Swan wouldn’t bother covering a body of her enemy and Donny’s stomach dropped. Either she hadn’t been the winner in this fight or she was gone when they came back for their stranded buddy.
Something clattered in the trailer and he froze, still hidden in the weeds. He heard mumbled curses and glass breaking. More indistinct muttering a
nd then something that sounded like sobs. He eased up the weather-beaten steps to the back door, wincing every time one creaked, and peeked through the louvered glass on the door. He saw a young man sitting at a table, a bowl of cold soup broken on the floor. He had his head in his hands and his shoulders shook with each sob. His long, greasy hair was crusty with blood. Donny tapped his ring on the spear, come, and kicked open the door.
The boy screamed then grabbed his head in pain. He toppled over backward and started mewling when the panther landed on his chest, bared her long fangs and snarled in his face.
“Go ahead.” He blubbered. “I deserve it. I know I do. Go ahead.”
Donny dashed through the trailer, made sure there was no one else and came back to the crying boy with the panther still crouched on his chest, claws dug in and hot breath snarling in his face.
Donny clicked his ring and the panther gave one last menacing growl and reluctantly hopped off. His head was bleeding again where he’d been hit. He didn’t know what happened, he’d woke up on the bathroom floor in his own filth and vomit with his head busted open. Shaggy was gone and he found Blind Mike with his head half torn off. The zoo kids must have found them. He didn’t know why they hadn’t killed him, maybe they thought they had. His head was throbbing white pain. He was still having headaches from the battle last winter when the boy with the Warhammer had nearly caved it in. He pushed himself up against the refrigerator and answered any questions the silent boy wrote out. He had a hard time reading them, everything was still blurry. He knew he must have a concussion again. Why did those kids like bashing people’s heads?
The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 51