He’d hated and feared rats ever since.
This life was so much better. He was at peace. He was happy for the first time in his life. The others used to sit around the fire talking about the things they missed and he’d listened as they talked about ice cream and Netflix. PlayStations and movie theatres. Fresh pizza and cotton candy. He’d never had any of that unless it came from a dumpster or he snuck in when the ushers weren’t paying attention.
Donny felt a deep sympathy for the rest of his tribe. They’d lost everything. Their families, friends and possessions. For him every day felt like Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. He’d never had any of the nice things they missed so he wasn’t bothered by their absence. He’d never had much of anything, just the worn-out hand me down clothes on his back and a Hello Kitty backpack with a busted strap to hold his few possessions. Anything he wanted; he could have now. He just had to go get it. The thing was though, he didn’t want much. He felt like he was the richest kid in the apocalypse. He finally had a family, friends and the most loyal four-legged companion that ever lived. He had armor and weapons. Warm clothes that fit. Shoes without holes. No pervert was trying to take advantage of his silence and his body. No one ridiculed his mixed ethnicity or his muteness. His social status didn’t matter. The tribe accepted him for who he was, loved him and depended on him. He couldn’t ask for more than that. He smiled to himself at the thought of his brothers and sisters and felt truly blessed to be part of the tribe.
He watched the big cat stir to life. They’d had to hunt hard for the deer. Even though they were plentiful, the animals had become wary of the Savage Ones that tended to stay close to the zoo for the easy meals that came shuffling down the road. They’d covered a lot of miles before Yewan picked up a scent.
Murray had given him an iPad with hunting information on it as a Christmas present. He opened the device and picked up reading the article where he had left off. It was about the moon phases and how it affected the animals feeding patterns. The solunar table showed that their prime feeding times would be midday for the next few days. He’d never considered that before, they just always took to the woods when it got dark and hoped for the best. Sometimes, they were lucky, other times they weren’t. He needed to hunt smarter, not harder because Murray said they needed another year before the penned herds would be big enough to start culling for meat. According to the data on the iPad, smarter would have them going out late morning to get into position. He wondered where Swan was. She and her wolves hunted differently than him and usually wandered farther. Sometimes she would be gone for days and when she came in, she rushed to get her share of the chores finished so she could head back out. She’d become more sullen and brooding and he knew she was hunting Gordon. He hoped she didn’t find him, things had settled down and they hadn’t had any trouble for months. He doubted if they’d ever hear from him again but if she found out where they were, she’d start a war. She still mourned over Lucy and placed the blame squarely on him.
He finished the advanced hunting strategies book and gauged the time by the sun. They still had a couple of hours to burn before they should head out and he needed to take his turn swinging the ax. They cut wood every day, they weren’t going to be caught short again. Winters were long and cold in Iowa.
His mind was made up. He’d start hunting the moon phases after they were done with the majority of the garden harvest. Attune himself with Mother Earth as Swan would say. The idea of hunting in the middle of the day based on the wax and wane of the moon seemed odd, but what did he know? He was a homeless street kid who got lucky. He was adaptable and would do what it took to feed his tribe.
5
Harvest
The next few weeks passed by in a blur. The garden produced food faster than they could collect it. The cellar was nearly full and every meal had an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables that covered the table.
Before the outbreak, most of them would have moaned and groaned if their parents had told them to eat their veggies. Now, they scarfed them down and wanted more. The long winter of eating canned food, crackers and venison jerky had given them a desire for anything fresh.
Tobias and Analise canned nonstop and were always reminding the hunters to look for propane bottles and Mason jars while they were out. They had nearly exhausted their supply of jars and lids. Their blackberry jelly was now perfect and the smell of the baking bread filled the house every Sunday morning. Kodiak had built a cooling box in the cellar that kept the yeasted dough, milk and butter fresh.
Tobias was a tyrant in the kitchen and was proud of his growing culinary skills. Everything had to be just perfect. The triplets were fed up with him and his bossiness and mutiny was being discussed among the three. They conspired and debated tying him to a chair and rubbing the sweet cooked down juice from the berries in his hair and letting the bears take turns licking him until his face was raw. Analise was about tired of him too. He was like that angry chef from the TV their mom used to watch.
Haul firewood. Pump the water. Get out of my way. Get over here. Get over there. It was nonstop. The three were tired and wanted to play, but every time they thought they’d done everything the older boy asked, he piled on more work.
Landon ran around the kitchen with a section of panty hose stretched over his head. They were supposed to be cutting off the legs and filling them with potatoes and onions to hang in the cellar. Clara and Caleb laughed as he barked orders with his impersonation of Tobias. Analise shushed them when Tobias came back inside with a bucket of blackberries.
Tobias glared at them. Landon pulled the panty hose off his head and glared back at Tobias. Analise put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh but the triplets couldn’t hold it and fell to the floor in convulsions of uncontrolled giggling. Tobias grew red in the face. He wanted to know what was so funny. No one could answer, they just pointed behind him.
Popsicle had nosed his way through the door and had his big face buried in the bucket of blackberries. His long tongue scooped them into his mouth and fished them from the corners. The fur of his face was blue from the juices. Tobias shrieked and Popsicle ran. He chased the polar bear across the yard until they were both out of sight.
He returned a few minutes later. Muttered under his breath and dared any of them to say anything.
“I guess he didn’t want the cheese.” Landon said. Tobias’ latest effort at cheese sat next to the now empty bucket. His cheese was getting better but even Otis still wouldn’t eat it.
Tobias growled at them and grabbed up his wooden spoon. He waved it menacingly and ordered them to go get more wood for the stove. He snatched up his apron from the back of a chair and slipped it over his head.
He swore when he saw the modifications.
Someone had taken a marker and changed Kiss The Cook to Kill The Cook. He glared at his sister and the small kids as they tried to look surprised and maintain innocent faces.
He and Analise had gone through a phase where they wanted to be celebrity chefs and had spent a few months watching cooking shows and trying all kinds of recipes. They never really got very good but they knew much more about cooking than the others whose culinary skills extended only as far as the microwave. He enjoyed working in the kitchen before the outbreak but now he took great pride in preparing the meals. He took the responsibility seriously. It was his job to make sure they all ate properly, they couldn’t live on mac and cheese. To get them all together so he wouldn’t have to keep meals warm for a dawdler, he made it a rule; no one eats until everyone is seated at the table.
Tobias gave up on making jelly for the time being. It would take another trip to the blackberry patch since Popsicle had eaten or ruined all of the berries. He turned his attention to dinner and ran the triplets out of the kitchen.
When he and Analise set out his creations, he poised over the table. He watched his tribe, rolling pin in hand, ready to swat anyone who couldn’t wait to dig in. He waited for the praise. They wouldn’t give
it. It’s okay and meh’s were his reward. Getting under his skin was a constant source of entertainment for the tribe and they dogged him whenever they got the chance. He let them have their fun. He could tell by how the plates were cleaned that they enjoyed it.
They had become lean and muscular. None of them carried extra body fat. The softness of hours sitting in a classroom or in front of the TV were gone. They stayed busy from sunup to sundown, sometimes longer. Surviving was hard work and they didn’t want to feel the hunger in their bellies next winter. They didn’t want to stay cold for months because they had to use the wood sparingly. They wanted full stomachs and roaring fires and they worked to make it happen. They had to venture further and further to find wood. Everything close to the house was long gone. Even the little kids took their turn at the wood pile. They weren’t strong enough to swing the axe yet but they could haul the chopped wood and split kindling with the hatchet and add it to the stack at the back of the house. It ran the whole length and wrapped around one corner. It was already head high in some places and Murray said it would act as insulation against the winter winds. And it was close. They wouldn’t have to trudge back and forth through the snow to get it. It was right outside the door. An hour of chopping, dragging or stacking was on the chore chart for everyone and the pile of wood was already nearly as much as they’d had when the temperatures dropped below freezing last winter. They would be ready this year. They would spend the snow bound months lounging and relaxing, not fighting the elements and freezing in the cold.
Darkness had fallen, work was finished for the day and Kodiak was content as he added a spoon of mashed potatoes to his dinner plate. He felt good about everything they were accomplishing but he’d been brooding about their perfect little corner of the world. Nothing good ever lasted. Life always seemed to have a sucker punch waiting. Two steps forward and one step back. How long could their run of perfect luck continue? How long until someone got zombie bit or broke an arm or had an accident with the ax? What if one of them got really sick? He tried to push the dark thoughts away, he just wanted to eat his meal and enjoy the banter of the tribe. Inside the house was the only time they ever got loud and silly. They didn’t yell or make unnecessary noises outside but in the stately old home, they let their guard down. While Caleb told another dumb knock knock joke he let his thoughts drift from one of the tribe getting hurt to Gordon to the undead at the gates to the Savage Ones and back to Gordon.
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-di
nner 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.
The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 82