by TW Brown
“Papi?” Della tugged on Juan’s sleeve. “Can we say a prayer for the Grizzly Man before we go?”
“Sure.” The word was barely out of Juan’s mouth when both girls crossed themselves and knelt on the ground.
Together, the pair traded off speaking aloud her prayer. They both asked God to let Grizzly Man into Heaven, and then began to list all the things that they hoped he would tell their mother. Juan could not help but smile as Denita said, “But, Jesus, make sure that Mama waits for Papi. The Grizzly Man will have to find his own wife from all the angels.”
Once the prayer and heavenly laundry list was finished, Juan took the girls’ hands and brought them over to a large rock. “Okay, I want and need you both to do exactly as I say.” He received nods from the girls. “We are going to find anything useful that we can, and then we have to go.”
“Do you think the Grizzly Man is a deader or did he maybe just die?” Della asked, a tear brimming at the corner of her left eye.
Juan pressed his lips together tightly. He had never made it a habit of sugar-coating things for his girls. He had not believed that such things would be to their benefit in this harsh new world that they would grow up in.
“I think that maybe there might have been too many deaders. He can’t come back if there is nothing left.” Honestly, despite how horrible it would be, Juan hoped to God that there had not been enough left of Gerald for the man to come back and walk among the undead.
Both girls nodded.
That seemed to satisfy each of them in some way and they quickly set to work. The first thing they did was find sticks to poke around with in all the mess. The girls both had gloves from when they had ventured out to hunt rabbit, unfortunately, Juan did not have a set and could not do more than poke and have one of the girls come if he found something useful.
Once they had managed to scrounge up anything that he deemed useful (which was sadly very little), they went to the nearby stream and cleaned everything up. After a quick inventory, they had one leather pouch with a shoulder strap, four long knives, and one very big machete in addition to the smaller field machetes that his daughters had on their hips.
They were just about ready to go when a low moan came from the nearby tall grass. Juan instinctively moved the girls behind him, but they just as quickly edged right back up to his side. Juan cocked his head and listened closely. He knew very well what the sounds of the undead were like; this was not a deader.
“Stay put!” he hissed, and then Juan crept closer to where the sound could be heard.
Another moan came as Juan reached the reeds. Using his machete, he parted the curtain of stalks and actually felt his face contort at what he saw. Lying in the muck and water was Gerald. Or, at least what was left of him.
If the bear had done some damage, that was a scratch compared to what the zombies had done. In fact, he truly did not know how the man was still alive. And he was alive.
The one eye that fixed on him through the thick mud and swelling of a face that had been bitten in no less than three spots was not the filmed over gaze of a zombie. Even more impressive, there was no sign of the tracers.
Gerald was alive—barely.
“Jesus, man,” Juan gasped as he limped forward and knelt at Gerald’s side.
The only response was a moan that ended in a wet gurgle. The big man coughed, causing blood to trickle from his lips. Although, admittedly, it was difficult to really see through the matted, mud-drenched beard.
Looking the man up and down, Juan cataloged the injuries. The worst was the three missing fingers on the right hand and the bites to the face. It looked like the lower lip was barely attached and the hideous flap of flesh hung down, resting on the beard. Most of the man’s upper body was bare, the shirt and protective jerkin having been ripped away.
A gasp at his right shoulder made Juan turn suddenly. The girls had come up while he was intent on examining Gerald and now they were staring in open-mouthed horror at the damage.
“Get back…NOW!” he added when they seemed to hesitate.
Juan knew that they had seen things that the average seven-year-old of his or her time had not; still, that did not mean they needed to see Gerald like this. Plus—Juan turned back and looked at the man’s chest for any indication as to his breathing patterns—it would do them no good to see the man actually die.
“K-k-kill me,” Gerald managed, although it was barely decipherable with his ruined mouth.
“I will,” Juan promised.
There was a pause and then the man shook his head. He motioned Juan to lean in closer. He took one more look to confirm that the man’s eye had not clouded over and filled with black tracers and then Juan leaned in to listen.
“N-n-no, you idiot. I was saying don’t kill me.” He had to swallow to clear his mouth of blood and then Gerald continued. “Unless I die and turn.”
Juan sat back up and examined Gerald. Obviously the man had no idea as to the extent of his injuries. Then he looked around at the ruins of the old cabin. It was not like he would be able to bring the man to his bed and nurse him back to health.
Juan stood and planted his hands on his hips as he looked around. Between his lame leg, Gerald being torn apart like a cheap chew toy, and his only help in the form of a pair of seven-year-old girls, Juan had never before been in a situation that felt so helpless. He had no tools, and it was unlikely that any remained. He’d even noticed the big maul where Gerald split wood had been snapped like so much kindling and rendered useless. It was likely that the other tools had probably met the same fate.
That thought made Juan laugh sardonically. It was bad enough that they had ripped apart Gerald, and it was bad enough that they had basically demolished the cabin just by their sheer numbers. Toss in that this ground would probably be rotten from the slurry of bodies that had been crushed and trampled in the event. But without even meaning to, they had also completely destroyed anything that he might be able to use to help rebuild. Not that he could do that much in his condition.
As he stood there, he noticed a wisp of smoke coming from the north and east of his location. There were other lone settlers in these parts. Juan knew that, and so the wisp of smoke was not much of a surprise. In fact, at the moment, it symbolized hope.
“Girls,” Juan called Della and Denita over. “See that smoke over there?” They both looked and then nodded. “I am going to need you to help me, and this will be very important.”
Juan struggled with what he was about to do. However, there was not really any other viable option. Sending the girls was the best chance he had at this exact moment. If he went and Gerald turned, he could not feel a hundred percent certain that they would take the big man down. Also, he needed to try and get the man cleaned up somewhat. He could not leave him to just lie in the mud and reeds on the banks of the stream. He had enough skill at basic first aid that he would be able to at least do something.
You could always leave, a voice piped up from somewhere in the darkest part of his mind. This ain’t the old world. You don’t owe nobody nothin’.
But that was just it. He did owe this guy. Not only had he nursed Juan back to health after the incident with the horse, but he also had taken it upon himself to help teach his daughters about survival. And then there was the bear.
“Girls, I want you to stick together, no matter what. You understand?” Their heads bobbed in acknowledgement. “Now, I want you to go towards that smoke. That has to be another settler. Tell them that we have a man who is hurt. Tell them that the zombie herd that passed through destroyed the cabin. Ask if they can help.”
“Okay, Papi,” the girls said in unison.
“And you don’t have time to waste. No zombie practice, no hunting. You hurry straight there. And if they won’t help. Or if you get there and it does not feel right…you run back here right away. Remember what I told you about trusting that funny feeling in your tummy?”
“Trust the gut and move your butt,” Denita giggled.
“Exactly.” Juan pulled the girls to his chest in a tight embrace. “Now hurry!”
He watched them turn and dash off into the woods. For the hundredth time, he reminded himself that it was not the Old World where no parent would even consider sending their children into the woods which were dangerous enough by themselves before zombies; but also to send them to a stranger’s house?
Returning his attention to Gerald, Juan peeled off his jacket and set it aside. “This is probably going to hurt,” he whispered, and then reached under Gerald’s armpits and shut off his own pain as he pulled the man up to a grassy patch unfouled by the legions of undead that had paved a hellish trail that, if seen from above, visibly bulged slightly as it washed over this particular spot where a cabin once sat.
***
By the time the group arrived at the gates, a contingent was waiting for them. They numbered nine men and three women and were dressed like they had just come off the farm. They wore very little in the way of protective clothing which implied they saw little in the way of zombies or human raiders. Well, much to their chagrin, that was about to change.
It had already been decided that Vix would do the talking. She knew what to say, and nobody doubted her ability to come across as confident. Gable would act as the muscle, and Randi would provide what Paddy had called the “Holy Crap” factor. She would simply scowl and let her scars act as a sort of intimidation tactic of the psychological nature. Vix had to admit, until she’d gotten more familiar with the woman, Randi had scared the bejeezus out of her.
“What news?” a man called, stepping just ahead of his companions.
Vix wasted no time. She went into her spiel about Dolph and his followers. She noticed heads nodding when she explained about the zombies being used as lures to bring a herd down on a settlement. Also, it was assumed that he used this tactic twofold; one use was simply as a scare tactic, the second was in cases like New England where his army would likely fail at an attempt to attack and conscript the residents.
That theory had come up around the campfire as they trekked towards London. Known instances where the zombies had actually been directed at a town were few. Those cases were always the larger and better fortified settlements. Over the years, methods had been adopted to protect against large herds. Of course, nothing like the sea of undead now being utilized as a weapon had ever been encountered. It was just not thinkable for so many zombies to gather in one mob.
In an age where a few hundred people were considered the new era equivalent to a megalopolis, zombies gathered in the millions was unfathomable—until now, that is. Pure and simple, no set of trenches and wooden walls would keep this herd at bay. The fall of New England had proven that as fact.
“Seems the bloody Nazis finally got the perfect, mindless soldier to do their bidding,” one man quipped.
“Aye,” another agreed. “So what is your plan? It seems to me you are telling us that the situation is hopeless.”
“We return to London and take Buckingham,” Vix said plainly.
“Why Buckingham?” one of the women posed. “The country is rife with castles and such. Why would we want to venture into London?”
“The fool did the hard work for us of clearing out the city of the undead,” Vix explained. “If we mass our forces there, we can bring in survivors from all over and give them someplace they know. Who gives a rat’s arse about some generic castle in the countryside? But tell people to come to Buckingham? Well I bet they know where that is, right?”
The welcoming committee asked Vix, Gable, and Randi to wait for a few moments. They moved aside and huddled close; the debate was whispered, but it was clear there were voices from both sides making the case both for and against.
At last, a man and woman stepped away from the group. The woman shot the man a look with a raised eyebrow and he nodded.
“We will put this before our people,” the woman said. Vix opened her mouth, but the woman raised a hand to silence her. “We will not force anybody to do this. While we certainly see the threat you describe, we have managed to rebuff all comers for many years.”
“The problem is that you are not realizing the scope of this man’s delusions…or his ingenuity. And by the time you change your minds and realize he is too much for you to withstand with those walls made from stripped down trees, it will be too late.” Vix saw the dubious expression on the woman’s face. The man could have been an excellent poker player in the times before as he showed absolutely no emotion at all. “Just make me this one…assurance.” Vix felt that asking for a promise might be too much and chose her word carefully.
“If it is possible,” the woman replied.
“Tell the people everything that I have told you. Do not give them an abridged version of this, it is too important.”
“For what it is worth,” the woman said in a soft whisper, although it was unlikely that the man standing just beside her could not hear, and so was mostly for effect, “I think your information is viable and that the threat is very real. I will do my best to convince any who will listen. And you can be assured that I will be coming just as soon as I can get my cart loaded.”
The pair stepped back and Vix sighed. This had not gone at all like she hoped. If she was being honest, she had expected the news to be received with some urgency and for the residents of this place to be appreciative, promising to follow behind as soon as humanly possible. If anything, they had been greeted with apathy.
Vix returned with Gable and Randi to the group. They walked in silence, allowing her to stew over what she considered to be a huge failure on her part and a fatal mistake on the part of the people in that little community.
They arrived at camp and Vix gave the report. Mike seemed unconcerned and called for everybody to move on. In minutes, everybody had packs slung over their shoulders and they resumed their trek west. They stuck to what had once been the A13 and made amazingly good time.
As their band made camp that night, Paddy found a spot next to Vix and sat down. She could tell he had something on his mind, and after she’d given her face a good washing with her clean cloth and some water from her canteen, she turned to the man, fixed him with her stare, and folded her arms across her chest.
“You think this is going to fail, lassie?” Paddy finally asked.
“It will if we don’t get some people to join us. We can’t hold someplace like Buckingham with thirty or forty people. Not against Dolph and his army,” Vix said with a groan as she unlaced her boots.
She slipped them off and cleaned her feet before slipping into fresh, clean socks. On the road, it did not matter that there had been a lack of zombies; she would never feel comfortable sleeping without her boots on. She poured water in her metal cleaning bowl and then looked back up at Paddy. He had remained silent.
She had to blink to be certain she was seeing his expression correctly. He was smiling!
“Did you nip some of the hard cider?” Vix grumbled.
“No,” Paddy said with a hearty belly-laugh that made a few people in camp glance his way for a moment before returning to their assorted tasks. “I’ve just been waiting and hoping that something might arise that would give us something to place a wager on.”
“What are you talking about?”
Vix knew good and well that this little band had a thing for making odd bets. Actually, it was more the payoff that usually ended up being so odd. When she’d met Paddy, he’d been dressed like a storybook leprechaun. Since joining, she’d heard some real doozies.
“I am talking about placing a wager with you as it pertains to the success of this little mission we find ourselves on,” Paddy said with a hint of a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.
The fire had just been lit, and the orange of the flames made his hair look like a fiery halo and his eyes sparkled. His skin had an orange hue to it, and now he looked more the part of some mythological creature than when he’d been dressed as one.
“Why would I invol
ve myself in one of your ridiculous wagers?” Vix grunted as she pulled the first boot back on.
“You are one of us now. Am I correct?”
“Of course, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“We have a rule against taking ourselves too seriously. Most of us think that is part of what led to our demise. So now, we make these ridiculous wagers as you so eloquently put it.”
Paddy’s smile was ear-to-ear by this time, and a few of the others had gathered around, making Vix suddenly wary. Even Chaaya seemed to be paying attention.
“And what would be the conditions of this wager?” Vix finally asked.
“If we fail in taking the palace, recruiting an army, and rebuffing Dolph and his twisted minions, then you have to wrap yourself in an Irish flag and sing A Soldier’s Song.” He paused and glanced around at the crowd, and gave a salacious wink. “That would be the Irish National Anthem, for those of you who did not know.”
“Didn’t know the Irish had an anthem,” Gable said with a snort. “Thought it was more of a slogan…something like, ‘Pour me another pint’ or something like that.”
“And what would you Americans know about anthems. You have that screechy abomination that not even your own citizens seemed to be able to sing properly,” Seamus piped up.
This started off a barrage of jibes and ribbing from everybody. However, Vix was still sitting there silent. She had not spoken a word either to accept or rebuff the offer. In reality, she was still fixated on something that Paddy had said a moment ago.
“You are one of us now. Am I correct?”
She had lived in the community of New England for several years. She had done her part, helped when and where she was needed, and taken part in everything from births, to weddings, to funerals. Yet, through it all, she had remained pretty much to herself. She never let anybody in too close and did not allow herself to form deep bonds or attachments with her fellow citizens.
And now, here she was with a band of what amounted to little more than a bunch of hooligans and she had found something she was not even aware that she’d been lacking: peace. These were her people, and, for reasons that she could not put into words, she was one of them.