“Looking for me?” Swan asked and a black figure stepped out of even blacker shadows, her wolves silent beside her.
“You didn’t wake me up,” he said.
“Wasn’t sleepy.” She answered curtly. “Go on back inside. I’ll let you know when I am.”
“Okay,” he said. He knew not to argue when she was in one of her moods. “But wake me up as soon as you get tired. There’s still a few of Gordon’s men hiding out.”
“Not as many as before,” she said under her breath when he was out of earshot.
She wiped the gore from her tomahawks and reached down to scratch Zero behind the ears. His muzzle was also wet with blood.
The next morning there were arguments, tears and tantrums. The triplets didn’t want to go with the women, they wanted to stay with the tribe. They finally agreed when Kodiak told them he really didn’t want them to go, the tribe could really, really use their help but what about Mr. Ringtail and the rest of the foxes? They couldn’t keep up. Their poor little paws couldn’t take it. They had to ride in the car and he needed the triplets to keep them safe.
Harper hunkered down to their level.
“The ladies are nice, but can they be trusted to take care of your foxes or Murray’s monkeys?” she asked. “They don’t even know what to feed them. What if Mr. Ringtail or Kuma Lisa run off and get lost? You have to take care of them, they need you.”
The triplets reluctantly agreed and started gathering fox food to add to the already loaded Hummer.
“I’m gonna miss those little boogers.” Tobias said. “It’ll be months before we see them again.”
“They deserve a chance at a normal life.” Kodiak replied. “They need to be with other kids.”
He didn’t need to add that their journey would be a lot more dangerous than the car ride.
The Hummer was pretty full with three women, three children, three foxes and three monkeys but they would be okay. They could be there in a few days. They went out of the back gate and left it standing wide open. The little kids waved until they were out of sight, then the tribe turned south, back towards the zoo.
42
Lakota Bound
They stood in the shade of the tree where Murray rested. It was a peaceful spot that overlooked the river and fresh flowers were laid on the cairn. They had spent the morning at the grave, reminiscing and telling stories while Donny worked with the chisels to carve a headstone. It was simple but it said a lot.
Murray Sanders
Brother
Friend
Hero
“We just wanted you to know that Gordon has been dealt with and he’ll never hurt anyone again.” Harper said. “You’d be proud of us, we saved some girls and they’re on their way to Lakota with the triplets. Elmo, China and Ernie, too. We’re going, so this is the last time we’ll be stopping by. We miss you every minute of every day and we’ll never forget you.”
Swan and her wolves were the last ones to leave the grave as the procession started the long walk to Lakota. When they faded out of sight, she pulled Gordon’s bloody scalp from the inside of her hyena cloak and dropped it next to the flowers.
“Proof,” she said. “That bastard died hard. Broken, bleeding and crying.”
She didn’t have to hurry to catch up, the bears were slow. They left the gate open for Millie, she could follow if she wanted. If not, the old rhino would be fine. Like the children, she could take care of herself.
Epilogue
Diablo sniffed at the bloody piece of hair on the stones by the river. It had his brothers’ smell on it. It also had hers, the human child with the steel claws who had taken Demonio from him. The wolf girl who had slashed his shoulder, torn his mouth and split his tongue. Pus oozed from the infection in the roof of his mouth where her tomahawk had cut him. He raised his fanged maw and cried out his barking hyena laugh. The pack of followers answered with chitters, grunts, howls and hisses.
The child would be easy to follow, her scent was strong.
Author’s Note
The Feral Children will return in The Feral Children 3: Nomads
Author’s Note from Wesley:
If you are still reading, then you’re probably mad about Murray and Sage and glad that Bert and Gordon finally resolved their differences. I hope you are as excited as I am about what comes next for our heroes. Don’t worry, we’ll be working hard on the next story very soon!
There’s a lot of miles left to travel on the Zombie Road and I’m thrilled to be here. From a last minute submission in the Long Haul Anthology, to having my characters from that story incorporated into the main storyline, writing the fan club Christmas story, having a shady Colonel named after me and finally, being asked to co-author the Feral Children, it’s been one wild ride. That brings me to the people who made it happen.
A huge heartfelt thank you to David. He’s really one of the best people on this planet and I’m better for knowing him. He truly deserves all the success he has achieved, and I wish him a whole lot more of it. I’ll never forget sitting on my back porch with him and telling him that this kid had an ostrich and this one had a giraffe. He looked at me said, “An ostrich and a giraffe? Why not, let’s go with it and see what happens.” Thank you, buddy, you’re the best.
I’d like to give a shout out to my own band of Feral Children. Wynema, Ryan, Garrett, DJ, Landon and my granddaughter, Harper. The personalities of the Feral Children come straight from them and all of the friends they’ve dragged in and out of our home over the years. I love you all!
Thank you Dennis and Tina German for showing me that family is so much more than blood. I love you guys!
Thank you to all the people behind the scenes that make these stories better. The beta readers who help smooth out the rough edges. Thank you to our very own Elvira, Alina Giuchici. She’s a tireless promoter and supporter and a talented fashion designer in her own right. Thanks to the incomparable Eric A. Shelman, seriously this guy could read the multiplication tables and keep you listening until way past bedtime.
Lastly, but most importantly, my beautiful wife, Shannon. I wouldn’t be doing this without the love and unwavering support of this real-life Wonder Woman. She wrangles a huge family of teens to toddlers, aging parents and me. Thanks baby for all you do and I’m sorry for all those nights you tried to sleep with the glare of a laptop screen in your eyes. I love you, Sunshine.
To all of you younger readers out there, pay attention to this next part. Parts of this book are violent and some of them are uncomfortable to read, much less write, but it’s make believe. No kids or animals were harmed in the writing of this book. Unfortunately, the issues the characters face are real. Mental, physical and sexual abuse are real. As long as there’s one person out there living one or all of these nightmares, that’s one too many. Please, if you are in one of these situations or know someone who is, reach out for help. Go to a teacher, coach, pastor or someone you trust. Being a victim isn’t a crime, you’ve done nothing wrong. No one should have to live this way and it saddens to me see so many young people taking their own lives because they were bullied or abused and saw no other way out. You’ll probably never get to ride on the back of a 1200-pound bear and slay zombies, but you can take inspiration from Kodiak and the tribe and take a stand.
November 21, 2019
Wesley R. Norris
Author’s Note
Authors note from Simpson:
What a ride and let’s hope the worst is over. The tribe have a long journey ahead of them but hey, after all they’ve been through, it should be a pretty easy jaunt across the country.
A leisurely stroll in the park.
That nasty old hyena will probably give up and crawl off to die somewhere. Swan and Donny are pretty handy at hunting so they shouldn’t go hungry. Besides, there are plenty of empty houses with food. They can go into them, fix a nice meal, have a good nights sleep. They might even pass a shopping mall and decide to explore. What could possibly go wrong?
/> We hope you enjoyed the story and will join us in the next book for the last part of the tale as they make their way to Lakota.
If you liked it, please be so kind as to leave a review. We greatly appreciate it and it helps others find the books so they can enjoy them too.
There is a David Simpson Fan Club on Facebook if you’d like to join us for all the latest information on releases and other things. If you have any questions or comments, that’s the best place for them and I’m on there everyday.
There’s also the obligatory website where everything I’ve ever published is listed, most of it still available. Davidasimpson.com
Have fun, live life and don’t get hit by a bus.
David A. Simpson
7 December, 2019
Also by David A. Simpson
Zombie Road: Convoy of Carnage
Zombie Road II: Bloodbath on the Blacktop
Zombie Road III: Rage on the Rails
Zombie Road IV: Road to Redemption
Zombie Road V: Terror on the Two-Lane
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache
Zombie Road VII: Tragedies in Time
Zombie Road VIII: Crossroads of Chaos
Anthologies
Tales from the Zombie Road: The Long Haul Anthology
The Zombie Road Fan Fiction Collection: Tales from the Zombie Road World
Undead Worlds: A Reanimated Writers Anthology
Undead Worlds 3: A Reanimated Writers Anthology
Treasured Chests: A Zombie Anthology
Trick or Treat Thrillers: Best Paranormal 2018
Trick or Treat Thrillers: Best Horror 2018
By David A. Simpson and Wesley R. Norris
The Feral Children: Animals
The Feral Children 2: Savages
The Feral Children 3: Nomads
Coloring Book
Zombie Road: The Road Kill Coloring Book
Zombie Road and Feral Children T-shirts
Available on Amazon
Also by Wesley R. Norris
Road to Riches: A Zombie Road Tale
Book 1: Deadline
Children Book
Elf Without A Shelf
Anthologies
Tales from the Zombie Road: The Long Haul Anthology
The Zombie Road Fan Fiction Collection: Tales from the Zombie Road World
Splintered Dreams: A Guide to the Apocalypse Vol 2
The Feral Children 3
Savages
Book three in the Feral Children series
This is a work of fiction by
David A. Simpson
And
Wesley R. Norris
ISBN: 9798688026283
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No portion of this text may be copied or duplicated without author or publisher written permission, with the exception of use in reviews
Copyright 2020 David A. Simpson
All rights reserved
Prologue
September
12 Months After the Outbreak
The rickety livestock building stank of manure and hay. It could be described as sickly sweet and disgusting all at the same time. Flies buzzed in and out of the holes that were rusted through the metal siding. Hay rotted in the empty stalls that ran along one of the walls. Most of the bulbs in the high overhead lights had burned out and either no one cared enough to change them or didn’t think the effort was worth it. It was a place for cattle to huddle out of the weather before they were slaughtered to feed the town. The mournful lowing of cows expressing their displeasure at not being fed yet interrupted the stillness and silence.
Kodiak needed a moment to think. Time to get his mind off his own worries and deal with the imminent threat facing the tribe. Staring at Otis wasn’t helping him or Otis. There was nothing more he could do for his friend. Everything that could be done had already been tried. Dwelling on their situation just made him angrier. He tried to calm himself. It wasn’t working. This was supposed to be a haven. It was supposed to be a place far removed from the struggles of being on the road. It was supposed to be safe and secure from the undead, the Savage Ones and the malicious people that roamed the desolate countryside. Not all of the people here could be evil, but the few they met had been.
The other members of his tribe looked at him expectantly. He’d led them here; they were counting on him to lead them out. All but Swan. She didn’t like being held against her will and yearned for a fight. The events at Smith’s Landing were too fresh, too raw for her. She’d been restrained, confined, beaten and almost forced into a mockery of the marriage ceremony. Gordon had promised to shame her, break her spirit and then toss her to his gang to do with as they pleased. She’d gone feral on them, though. The tribe had helped her, had come through at the last moment but they had shown mercy to those that fled the battle. She hadn’t though, and her blades had ensured they would never hurt anyone again. She wasn’t opposed to the idea of letting them speak their whispered language of pain again. She paced restlessly along the walls, her pack of wolves tight on her heels, ready to spring into action at her command. She held a tomahawk in each hand as she looked for weakness in the metal siding, anything that would give them a way out. A spot she could lever or pry open far enough to squeeze through before unleashing steel and fury on the man who guarded them. The building was old but it had been built to hold in thousand-pound cows. It was solid and it would take a lot of noise and effort to break out. It would take time. Hack and slash without regard for the consequences was her way. The way of the wolf. Fight without fear, without remorse and without a conscience. A wolf didn’t concern itself with the opinions or lives of sheep. She was terrible and savage when she went over the edge and she was almost at that point. Getting out of the building was the least of her worries, though. She knew they could but the men with the guns and the high walls were the real danger. They couldn’t cover the ground and get past them without being cut down. She didn’t fear for herself, she feared for her tribe.
Kodiak walked away from the others. He avoided their eyes. They trusted him and he trusted them as well. They had survived from day one with only each other to rely on. They would survive this too, he resolved. He didn’t have a solution. Not yet. He mentally kicked himself for being so desperate, but there had been no other choice at the time but to come here.
He lowered himself, back to the wall, mindful of the cow manure that dotted the floor of the stock barn. The few overhead lights that still worked didn’t penetrate the darkness that shrouded him. It called to him. The corner was dark and lonely except for a few spiders waiting patiently in their webs for an unsuspecting fly. He sympathized with the fly. Snared in a web and trapped because of a bad choice. Like him and the tribe.
He dug the old, tarnished Coast Guard Zippo out of his pocket. It had been Derek’s lighter, now it was all that was left of him. The easy-going zookeeper had been the closest thing to a dad he’d had for years and he missed him. He missed the talks and life lessons shared on the banks of the Mississippi River. He missed the easy way Derek had with the animals and the way he’d always treated his mother with kindness and respect. He rubbed his fingers over the raised emblem as memories of all the tribe had endured flashed through his mind.
Flick. He watched the flame dance from the Zippo.
Snap. He closed the lid and extinguished the yellow blue fire.
Flick. He watched the shadows dance on the barn wall. Like ghosts they came and went with the flicker of the flame.
Snap.
Flick. He watched as Derek went down under the jaws of the hyenas the day the world went to hell.
Snap.
Flick. He thought about his mom using her last breath to give them a chance to survive.
Snap.r />
Flick. He remembered the pain of Gordon pounding his fists into his ribs and stomach while he was helpless at the mercy of the psychotic boy and the thugs that followed him.
Snap.
Flick. Bodies were shredded by the fury of the tribe. Blood stained the snow crimson as they fought Gordon’s gang at the church while the winter wind howled its fury. They would have killed them all but the screams of a burning girl drowned out the sounds of battle and snarls of animals as her flesh melted away.
Snap.
Flick. Murray waved goodbye from the porch for the last time.
Snap.
Flick. The awful sound of dirt striking the charred corpse and the nauseating stench of burnt flesh that no number of fresh flowers could hide as they laid Murray to rest on the banks of the Mississippi.
Snap.
Flick. Gordon begging and pleading like the coward he was before he fell into the pool of undead as justice was finally served.
Snap.
Flick. Otis roaring as the bullet ripped into his flesh.
Snap.
Flick. His tribe herded and caged like animals.
Snap.
He’d made a mistake coming here. He’d made a mistake listening to the smooth talk of the man who said he only wanted to help. Lies and more lies. His faith in the human species was fading. Maybe the world would be a better place when mankind was gone. Maybe whatever species came after wouldn’t be hell-bent on destroying what others built.
The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 55