Five Days Dead

by James Davis

  “What’s he going to do, hit a line drive if something attacks?”

  Victor looked at the young man and grinned between mouthfuls of food. “We all live in our own world Harley, you know that.”

  “You could have given him a gun.”

  “Tried to. Said he was a horrible shot. I told him he needed a weapon and he brought the bat. To each his own, you know?”

  Quinlan and his children climbed back into the truck, shivering in the cool of the morning. Victor turned on the heater and opened the windows to give some relief from his abundant gas.

  Victor finished off the last of the food, drank the last of the coffee and barked that they needed to get their gear together if they were going to make it across the slide before noon. Quinlan handed Noah a jacket and slipped a sweater over Raizor’s tangled hair and they stepped out of the truck, the children trying to sidestep the gore of the dead animals on the road. Harley remembered being their age and how much he had loved seeing animals in the wild. He wondered if any child would ever look at wildlife and feel that way again.

  Victor opened the back of the truck and Quinlan started stuffing items into his pack. Harley watched with interest as the younger man carefully wrapped his eyeset and stowed it away. It was a familiar routine.

  “Didn’t take you for a pilgrim.” Harley slipped the holster back around his waist and buckled the scabbard and sword to his side.

  Quinlan nodded toward Harley’s sword. “Didn’t take you for a pirate. Or a cowboy.”

  Harley grinned in spite of himself. “I’m a whole lot of things.”

  “Which do you kill with most, the blaster or the sword?”

  Harley’s smile faded to a frown. “Killed too many with both I suppose.”

  Quinlan shrugged and lifted Raizor onto the tailgate of the truck to wash her face with a wet wipe. She fought back valiantly but with little success.

  Harley surveyed the tree line, not at all comfortable with their exposure among so many dead animals. Scavengers would arrive soon enough. “You live in the Hub. Thought people in the Hubs had a linktag. Seems to me it would be more convenient than an eyeset.”

  “Probably would be.”

  “So?”

  Quinlan lifted Noah onto the tailgate and washed his son’s face as well. Noah didn’t fight it the way his sister had. He handed them both toothbrushes and they sat on the tailgate swinging their legs and brushing their teeth.

  “So, the linktag makes you lose focus.”

  “Focus on what?”

  “On what’s real.”

  “That’s hateful language.” Victor volunteered from the front of the truck, where he was filling his own pack. “What part of our wonderful new world isn’t real?”

  “I’ll rephrase. It may be real enough for now. But it’s not sustainable.”

  “Sustainable?” Victor walked to the back of the truck and his scye trailed behind him. “The Federation has created the greatest civilization the world has ever known. We have cured disease, ended hunger, created Hubs for all of humanity, built a Link and digiverse where you can be and do anything you want. You‘re given an income, housing, medical and a linktag as a basic human right. This is the New Age of Discovery and you think it isn’t sustainable? Are you sure you’re a pilgrim because you sound like a neand, one of those who simply refuse to evolve, to let go of old ways and superstitions.”

  “I’m no neand. I’ll take advantage of what your Age of Discovery has to offer, but I won’t be dependent on it and neither will my children.”

  Victor shook his head and knelt down in front of Noah and Raizor. “Wouldn’t you two rather have a linktag so you could be on the Link anytime you want, not have to put on those silly eyesets?”

  “We’ve never been on the Link.” Noah said flatly.

  Victor raised an eyebrow at Quinlan. “Never?”

  Quinlan shook his head. “If we need something from the Link, I can find it. They’ll get an eyeset when they need one and they don’t need one right now. Vania and I want our children living in realtime. We want them to know what the real wind feels like on their face, to feel the warmth of the real sun. We want them to be truly alive, not to just imagine a life, but live one.”

  Victor stood up and grinned at Quinlan incredulously. “There have been petitions to the senate to have it declared child abuse to not let your children on the Link. If that were the law, I would have to take your children from you…for their own protection.”

  “Then it’s a good thing it’s not law.”

  Harley laughed at the ice in the young man’s voice and Victor grinned and slapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “What isn’t sustainable about our wonderland Quinlan Bowden?”

  “How many people are unemployed in the world Deputy Marshal Shelley?”

  Victor shrugged. “I’ve heard upwards of 90 percent. But everyone has an income. Your right as a member of the Federation.”

  Quinlan nodded. "When introduced in the United States, Right to Income was called Right to Work. Senator Facio presented it as a way to force businesses to give people gainful employment, to not automate everything we do. He just wanted to give everyone a fair chance at employment, a fair chance to do something to get ahead in life. But technology made most workers obsolete. You didn’t need a hand at the controls because the automation could take care of things all on its own. Business responded to Right to Work by pleading hardship. They would rather be taxed more heavily so the government could give everyone an income than forced to hire people to do a job that could be better done by automation. The bill was amended and became Right to Income and eventually signed into law. The Federation adopted it when it took over and drafted the Declaration of Human Rights.”

  “Sounds like a win for everyone.”

  “Maybe.” Quinlan lifted Raizor off the tailgate. “But if you give nine billion people nothing useful to do, they will find something to do that’s probably not useful, something much worse. Before the Energy Wars, there were close to 12 billion of us on the planet. The wars and the aftermath shaved off close to 3 billion and since then we have been in decline. The world population is projected to be fewer than 8 billion in another 100 years and that’s as our lifespan is increasing. What’s the average lifespan now, 150, 175, higher? So why is that, in this utopia you’ve built? Could be that procreation is just too damn much work. The most popular sexual partner of today is the filler. Digital wallpaper on the Link is what we want to have sex with.”

  Harley smiled and hooked a thumb toward Victor.

  “Why is that deputy? Because they give you exactly what you want, no questions asked and fillers are always satisfied.”

  Noah looked wide-eyed at his father and Quinlan chuckled. “You two cover your ears for a second.” Both children dutifully put their hands over their ears, giggling. “Close to 20 percent of the population that are in a relationship are in a digibased relationship. They’ve never physically touched each other.”

  “That’s neand-hateful language.”

  Harley chortled. “Hard to procreate on the Link Victor, even with your dick.”

  “The biggest trend in parenthood now is having a digibaby instead of a realtime one. Why? Because you can shut the damn thing off when they’re crying or sick or interfere with other things you would rather be doing.” Quinlan scowled. “Age of Discovery? What exactly are we discovering, how to be a slug? This world of your Federation is not sustainable. As a species, we’re rotting. The Wrynd are the first sign, but there will be more. The world knows it and has responded with the Rages. It’s cleansing itself of us.”

  “You’re not a neand. You’re a radical.” Victor grinned but in his eyes there was menace. “A revolutionary even.”

  “I’m no revolutionary.” Quinlan said flatly, returning Victor’s stare and Harley was surprised to see not a hint of fear in the young father’s eyes. He truly had misjudged him. “I’m a husband searching for his wife.”

  “The zombies have her.�
�� Victor said, and he strapped his own holster around his waist.

  “Speaking of Wrynd.” Harley cleared his throat. “Always thought zombies were neands, the most radical of the radical neands. Surprised to learn they aren’t.”

  “Of course they’re neands.” Victor responded.

  “No. They’re not. I had never thought about how or where they get their ink. I mean, I knew it had to come from somewhere, but I just never considered the where or how. But then I was watching the Wrynd tribe you plan to walk this man and his children into, and I saw King Orrin receive his latest shipment of ink. It came by stork. Bit of a surprise to see a stork hover down and drop off a rather large package of illegal drug to a Wrynd tribe in the middle of the Wilderness. The bigger surprise was when I realized he wasn’t wearing an eyeset. That’s when I understood ol’ King Orrin had a linktag and had ordered up his batch of ink through the Link. And it just got me wonderin’ how in the world could that be, that the Marshals of the Federation, the defenders of the New Age of Discovery you’re so proud of, how could they not know that the Wrynd were on the Link?”

  “They’re not on the Link. They’re outcast chattel and if they come near the Hub, we deal with them. If they don’t we let the Rages have them.”

  “But they still managed to walk right into the Utah Hub and steal this man’s wife, the mother of his children?”

  “They’re not on the Link.” Victor’s left jaw was flexing as he ground his teeth. Harley pressed on.

  “You’re a liar Deputy Shelley. Or a fool. If they’re on the Link, and they are, then the Federation could stop them anytime they wanted. So they must not want to stop them. I wonder why?”

  Victor took a step toward him and Harley caught a scent on the soft breeze swirling through the canyon, a hint of decay and blood and filth that blended with the death around them too late for him to not recognize its source. His hand drifted to his sidearm.

  “Since we’re about to meet up with the Wrynd, why don’t we just wait and ask them?”

  Chapter Seven

  Hunted

  You couldn’t see them yet, you couldn’t hear them, but on the soft breeze of the morning, you could smell the rot of them.

  “What?” Quinlan asked and moved closer to his children.

  Harley nodded toward the slide. “They’re coming.”

  Victor pulled his blaster from its holster and the scye dropped to his shoulder. “How many?”

  Harley faced the slide but didn’t bother pulling his sidearm. It was too early for any of that. “Do I look clairvoyant?”

  Victor scowled and his scye rocketed into the sky and disappeared over the horizon. “Ten,” Victor said a moment later. “Ten of them and Orrin is leading the way.”

  “Royal hunting party then.” Harley planted his feet wide and stood up straight, ready, waiting. “At least we’ll be part of a feast fit for a king. Boy, you’d better get those little ones in the truck.”

  Quinlan grabbed Raizor and tossed her in the back of the truck and Noah clambered in behind her. He slammed the tailgate shut and closed the shell hatch and came to stand next to Harley with the baseball bat in his hand. Harley shook his head sadly and handed him the pulse rifle he had taken off the legionnaire who whispered in a dying breath that the end was coming.

  The Wrynd came over the crest of the slide at a dead run, moaning their idiotic war cry and by their speed Harley knew things were not going to end well. They were in the midst of a full ink flare and would be hungry for flesh. King Orrin led the way, his massive arms and legs pumping to reach the five of them first. Right beside him ran a slim, athletic woman with the same crazed look on her face as the others. Her hair was long and very black and a tattoo transformed the right side of her face into a gaping, fleshless skull. A bright green and bloody wrap covered her small breasts and her midsection was flat and hard. Shorts clung to powerful looking legs. Harley thought she would be stunning but for the fact that she was a Wrynd. She wore no shoes and the nails of her hands and feet were claws. Harley couldn’t tell if they were real or synthetic, not that it would matter. He didn’t need to hear a gasp from Quinlan to know that this was Vania Bowden, wife of Quinlan, mother to Noah and Raizor and the latest in a long list of Wrynd King Orrin’s queens.

  Orrin skidded to a stop 25 feet from Harley, Victor and Quinlan. Vania and the eight other zombies stopped beside him, fanning out until they encircled the truck. There were five men and three women in the party and they were all consumed by ink.

  “Harley Nearwater!” Orrin roared and it was difficult to tell if it was a roar of rage or delight. Perhaps it was both.

  “King Orrin.” Harley nodded his way, his hand never straying far from his still holstered sidearm. Victor held his blaster, pointing it directly at Orrin's head and his scye made frantic circles in the air around him. He was scared to death Harley realized, but even more terrified to show it.

  “I didn’t order takeout.” Orrin said and the other Wrynd laughed hysterically, except for the young zombie woman by his side. She looked confused and even more agitated than the others. They had pumped so much ink into her that she was far beyond any hope of recovery. Harley made a sidelong glance at Quinlan. The young man hadn’t realized it yet. His breathing was jagged and Harley wondered exactly how long he would be able to hold things together.

  “No? Well, perhaps we’ll just be on our way then.”

  “You’re a funny little Indian Harley. We’re always up for takeout.”

  “Vania!” Quinlan’s voice was jagged and started out as a whisper and ended in a scream. The zombie woman before him looked his way as he called out her name but gave no hint of recognition.

  Victor took a step forward and the zombies all balanced on the balls of their feet, ready to leap at the first sign from their king. The deputy marshal had no idea how tenuous their situation was. “That woman is this man’s wife. You kidnapped and drugged her and we are here to take her home.”

  Orrin looked at Victor mutely for a moment and then roared more laughter, his pointed teeth clattering against each other and biting into the flesh of his lips. They bled down his chin. His tongue whipped out of his mouth to lap at the blood. “Queen Vania? Kidnapped? No, I think not. She is my bride, and I am her loving groom. If she knew anything of this pathetic little man, she has gladly forgotten it now.”

  Victor straightened his long right arm, holding the pulse pistol directly at the Wrynd king’s tattooed face. “That may be so, but he has the law on his side and I am the law, so she is coming with us, one way, or another.”

  “The law?” Orrin seemed amused, but Harley detected the quickness in his breath, the impatient tapping of his toes. Things were about to get ugly.

  “Deputy Marshal Shelley of the Federation.”

  “Victor? Victor! I hardly recognized you. You’ve had some modifications done I see. You look something like a monkey.”

  “Orangutan.” Harley offered.

  “Orangutan! Yes. A big orangutan.” Orrin gripped Vania by the arm and pulled her to him and she wrapped her other arm around his midsection and licked the blood from his chin. Harley heard Quinlan moan and out of the corner of his eye could see the children with their faces pressed against the window of the truck. “Vania, this man is a Deputy Marshal of the mighty Founder Federation. Are you impressed?”

  “Hungry.” She said, and her voice was harsh and jagged and somehow seductive.

  “Deputy Marshals are delicious!” Another zombie chattered enthusiastically.

  “I want me one of them wings!” Another screamed, and they all laughed and Harley knew death was coming.

  “Well, you heard them deputy. I think they would like to have you for dinner and as their humble king, how could I possibly say no?”

  The Wrynd who had screamed for a wing leapt forward and Victor hit him with his scye. The scye threw him off his feet and he landed by the others, the scye’s shielding catching his shirt on fire. He tore the shirt free and there was
a fist sized burn on his chest. He didn’t seem to notice, but he didn’t rush forward again either. Victor sent the scye circling menacingly around the zombies.

  “I see we are at an impasse.” Orrin dropped to his haunches, licking at his dirty fingers. “I suggest a contest. It’s the best way to deal with an impasse, don’t you think? A contest! Yes, Mr. Deputy Marshal a contest would be best. The Wrynd Horde loathes weapons. We believe in the honor of true combat, claw against claw, teeth against teeth, fist against fist and strength against strength. Not the vulgarity of pulse weapons or dirty flying scyes.”

  “Claw, teeth, fist and strength under the influence of ink, you mean?”

  “Ink for us, nanobot and medprint body parts for you. I see little difference.”

  “What contest?” Harley asked, his hand still hovering above his sidearm.

  “A contest between my lovely bride and the Deputy Marshal. He wants to take her away from her tribe, so I think she has some say in that. If he can defeat her in battle, then he can take her back to her pathetic little man. But if she defeats him, then, well, what shall I say. You’ll stay for dinner, yes?”

  “Just passing through,” Harley said and Victor shot him an angry glare. He didn’t care.

  “You should be careful of your company Harley.”

  “Vania!” Quinlan tried again. “Just come with us. We can get you help.”

  Vania looked at her husband and licked her lips, smiling and a sob escaped Quinlan.

  “Agreed!” Victor roared, and he winked at Harley. “Me against your little queen.”

  “No weapons! Claw against claw, teeth against teeth, fist against fist, strength against strength.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Victor unbuckled his holster and tossed it on the truck and slapped Quinlan on the shoulder. “I’ll have your little family home safe and sound by nightfall,” he whispered.

  Orrin looked at the other Wrynd and smiled. “Clear us an arena.” The zombies dashed onto the road and quickly cleared away the dead animals, piling the bodies into a circle roughly 25 feet in diameter and Vania calmly stepped inside the circle of death, still smiling softly, almost shyly. There was a sensuous control of her every movement that Harley found stimulating. He understood why Quinlan had brought his children into the Wilderness looking for her. He would have done the same thing.