The creature had been quiet. Since losing his eye, the major’s hearing had become a more reliable sense. The massive beast had not made a sound as it sniffed the air in the grocery store, hunting for something itself.
The major stepped back out of view. The bear had not spotted him; the creature was too absorbed in its own quest. The gray-haired, one-eyed man drew the rifle from his back and slowly pulled back the bolt.
There was no indication from the beast that it had heard.
The major pulled the rifle to his shoulder and stepped into the aisle. Placing the reticule over the bear’s chest, he prepared to fire.
The massive bear sat. It no longer searched the floor and shelves. Its paws held what it had been looking for.
The major spotted the familiar plastic bear in the real bear’s paws. The honey container was unopened and unspoiled. He pictured the small plastic bear sitting on his old kitchen table next to her morning tea. The combination of the honey and the Tetley tea would fill the kitchen. The morning tea had always made her happy.
The bear looked up at the man with the gun and cocked its head—its eyes moved from the man to the weapon. It sat still, holding the honey in its grasp.
The honey, the same honey she had used every morning. Anger flashed in the major’s eye and he lowered the rifle. “I’ve come for the honey.”
The bear snorted. Its large brown eyes focused on the grizzled man. For a brief moment it stopped pawing at the honey. Then it turned its back to the major and resumed the struggle to remove the plastic cap that held the precious honey in place.
If not for the missing windows at the front of the store, the report from the rifle would have caused a perforated eardrum or permanent hearing loss. Neither the major nor the bear flinched.
The creature turned and examined the major.
Smoke rose from the rifle barrel and drifted up towards the hole he had just shot in the roof.
“I’m talking to you, bear!”
The bear swiped at the litter on the floor and sent the trash twirling in the air. A plastic container slid down the aisle at tremendous speed and slammed to a stop at the major’s feet. The major stared down; Mrs. Butterworth stared back.
He picked up the syrup bottle and hurled the old lady at the beast. “I didn’t say syrup!”
The bear roared and stood, but it did not charge. Its massive frame towered above the empty shelves that formed the aisles.
“I want that honey!”
The bear looked at the prize in its paw and turned his shoulder to the man, keeping the honey out of view.
“Now.”
“Roar!” The bear charged a few feet and stood its full height. Its massive jaws slew spit and rage. The sound bounced off the steel roof and back down to the empty shelves.
The major drew a finger around the patch. He looked at the small bear in the giant bear’s paws. It was his wife’s honey.
The rifle clattered across the floor and drew a puzzled look from the monster. The major drew his knife.
The lieutenant was an ambitious man. Before the apocalypse he had masterfully played the office politics game and risen to the level of director in a Fortune 200 corporation. His rise to power was all but historic in both speed and accomplishment. Promotions came in quick succession while he did almost no work.
Proving himself useful in the post-apocalyptic world, however, had been difficult. Beyond organizing raiding parties and storerooms, there was little that he could do. He had exceptional skill at telling other people what to do, but little ability to do anything himself.
When called upon to act, he had always managed, by design, to arrive a step behind the man in front of him. That man would take bullets and beatings while the lieutenant would take credit.
Not counting the major, he had convinced all of those around him that he was a worthy leader, a fearless killer with a strategic mind. He had worked for years at the deception and with the major’s absence he was set to make his move.
No one ever made a move against the old man. Even entering the major’s quarters was a stab-able offense. As of this morning, the lieutenant was past the point of no return.
“You wanted to be informed when the major had returned, sir?” The young soldier was a fresh recruit and was obviously nervous.
“Yes.” The lieutenant stood, strapped on his gun belt and fixed his collar.
“He’s returned, sir.”
The lieutenant appreciated the young soldier’s weak intelligence. It would make being the new major much easier. “Thank you. You can go now.”
The young soldier nodded, relieved to be relieved, and hurried out of the cab, leaving the lieutenant alone in the rig’s command center.
He drew his pistol and assured himself that it was loaded. Drawing on the major terrified him and he hoped to avoid it, but he had no idea how the old man would react.
With the pistol armed and holstered, he pulled several items from a box he had discovered in the major’s quarters. He laid out the Earl Gray Tetley tea bags on the desk in front of him. This evidence would be enough to accuse the major of code violation. The very code the major strictly enforced.
Standing at ease behind the damning evidence, he waited for his commander. Salutes from outside the truck carried into the cab and he knew the major was close.
Sunlight poured into the rig as he stepped through the door. The major’s silhouette seemed larger than normal. The lieutenant blamed his nerves for the impression and raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sun.
“At ease, Dan.” His voice seemed raspier than normal.
The lieutenant wanted to protest and explain that he was at ease. His hand was raised against the sun, not to his soon-to-be former officer, but he stammered and left the protest alone.
The major shut the door behind him and the cab was engulfed by the sudden darkness. His shadow, even in the dark, looked massive.
Once in the light, the perceived bulk became apparent. Over his shoulders the major carried a large bearskin. No doubt a kill from his most recent excursion.
The animal’s teeth were the first things he noticed. The fangs were nine inches long; scarred enamel gave them a jagged look. He started and had to remind himself to stay calm.
The major shoved the bearskin from his shoulder. Crashing onto the table, the paws unrolled and covered the tea bags the lieutenant had so carefully laid out. One massive claw came to a rest pointed at his waist. The pads on the paw alone were the size of catcher’s mitts.
The lieutenant swallowed hard.
“The scavenging crew is to be commended. They missed nothing on their patrol.” The major pulled the rifle from his back and placed it on the weapons rack.
“Sir, there is something that we need to discuss.” He tried to sound official. Maybe he did. He couldn’t be sure if the quaver he felt in his voice had been heard.
The major turned and leaned across the table to look his second-in-command in the eyes.
The lieutenant gasped. The patch was gone.
“Does it look that bad?” the major asked and leaned closer to give the man a better look.
Blood was everywhere. His uniform was a loss, shredded and stained red. Three long tears ran from the center of his face to his ear. Blood trickled from each claw mark bringing fresh crimson to the bloodstained face.
“I had to stitch them up myself. I couldn’t find a mirror.”
All the lieutenant could do was shake his head. His mouth gaped open. He was horrified.
“That’s a yes. It looks that bad.” He slid the knife and sheath from his belt and set it on the table. “Have it cleaned and honed. That bastard was a fighter. It took a lot of cuts.”
The lieutenant finally found his voice. “Why didn’t you shoot it?”
The major had tried to find a deeper meaning to this question himself as he walked back to the rig with the bearskin across his shoulders. Yet, the answer was simple, and it was something that his underling needed to hear.
“It tried to take something of mine, Dan. Something important.”
The lieutenant weakened; his blood ran cold and he could feel it spreading through his arms, down his legs to his knees. Buckling wasn’t an option, so he placed his hand on the table for support and pretended to examine the pelt.
He stared, through one good eye, at the man in front of him. “It would have been okay if he had just put it back. But he wanted to make something of it.”
The lieutenant didn’t even consider reaching for his gun. He could only hold the table.
“Please send the medic to my quarters with some thread and a steadier hand than mine. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
As the major stepped from the table, he added, “That should give you time to put my tea back.”
The major left and the lieutenant collapsed at the knees. Heaving for breath, he took a minute to gather himself. It took another minute to gather the courage to move the bearskin and retrieve the Tetley.
FOURTEEN
“Take off the bear costume.”
“It’s not a costume. I’m a ferocious bear. Grrrr.” The masquerading bear raised his paws. Three six-inch blades extended from each hand. Rust spots marred the surface of the knives, but the honed edge was clean and glinted like silver.
“Take it off.”
“GRRRR!”
“Lose it!” Jerry directed the barrel of the shotgun at the bear’s temple.
“Fine,” the bear sighed and reached up to remove the head of the costume off. It twisted slightly but remained attached to the shoulders of the suit. Frustrated, the bear removed the bladed paws and tried again by placing one hand on the snout for leverage; outside, the PA system roared.
“It’s not coming off.” He turned to the little bear behind him. “Austin? Would you help me here?”
“I’m not Austin, I’m a ferocious bear. Grrrr.”
“He’s not buying it, Austin. Untie me.”
Austin shrugged and dropped his own claws to the ground before lumbering over to the bigger bear. The two of them struggled for a moment or two to no effect.
“Wait. Okay, bend over,” Austin’s small voice was weakened further by the bear mask.
The largest bear complied and bent over at the waist. The littlest bear passed his arm over and put the bear in a headlock. Fits of tugging and twisting resulted with the removal of the mask and the smallest bear collapsing on his rear.
Austin, the tiny bear, sat up and removed his own mask.
The three killer bears were three young boys. The oldest couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old. Austin was the youngest, no more than thirteen.
“What now, smart guy?” Alex, the oldest, asked.
Jerry leaned forward and tried to dial up the gravel in his voice. “Get out of my house.”
Alex nodded to the other two boys. Austin stood up and moved quickly out into the clearing. Trent grumbled and nursed his wounded hand as he sulked from the luxurious coach. Alex waited for the other two to get outside before moving past the man with the shotgun.
Giant insects, rotting corpses, hideous mutants, and other monstrosities of the wasteland were things that he had been prepared to see when he set out across the country several years ago. He was not prepared to see three headless bears, scolded and shuffling out of the Silver Lining. He chuckled at first; it built into a laugh that he tried to hide from the kids.
Regaining his composure, he lowered the barrel of the shotgun and stepped into the clearing.
The bears were huddled together. Alex stood in front of the group, keeping himself between the shotgun and the other two kids.
Laughter still threatened to invade his voice. He fought it back. “How many in your little bear clan?”
The talking bears were quiet.
Jerry moved to the back of the group. There, the smallest bear cowered behind the two bigger boys.
Peering into the eyes of the youngest boy, he growled, “How many rugs am I going to have to make to find out?”
Austin cracked. “It’s just us! Okay? We’re all alone.” His voice quavered but his attempt at a defiant tone emboldened his brothers.
“Leave him alone. He’s just a kid.” Alex grabbed Austin by the shoulders and pulled him away from the nomad.
“Yeah, you’re just being a big dumb asshole.” Trent stepped in between the man and the little boy.
“You’re all just kids. What’s going on here?”
The three looked to each other for assurance that it was okay to speak. Trent seemed to disagree, shaking his head back and forth. Alex only nodded to him and then spoke.
“We’ve been on our own since the end of the world. Me and my brothers. We were camping out here when it all happened. And we thought we would be okay. My dad was a great hunter; he got us food and water. He told us that it was safer out here than in the cities. But our parents … they only lasted a year.”
“Did they get sick?”
“No,” he held up his bear head. “The bears got them.”
“The bears were smart,” said Trent. “Really smart.”
“So you killed the bears?”
“My brothers kept having nightmares,” the frustration was evident in Alex’s voice. “They couldn’t sleep. We stayed up all night just in case they came back. We couldn’t go on like that.”
“Are they nocturnal?” the nomad asked the boy.
“I don’t know. We just waited until winter and found their cave.”
“They hibernate just like dumb bears,” Austin jumped in.
Trent, the middle child, nursed his hand. Blood began to spill through his fingers. Pain was evident on his face.
Jerry pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them to the youngest kid. “It’s Austin, right?”
The thirteen-year-old nodded but didn’t come near the keys.
Jerry calmed the grit in his voice, “Inside the glove box is a first aid kit. Get it and take care of your brother.”
“Your dog bit me!” Trent yelled as tears filled his eyes. The pain from his hand had become too much.
Jerry fired back. “You attacked a 150-pound dog! What did you think would happen?”
Trent looked at the ground, “I thought I would scare you away if I could take your dog.”
“We never had a dog.” Austin became excited.
“You don’t steal dogs! Or motor homes!”
Austin’s head shrunk into the safety of his bear costume. Trent took him by the hand and walked them both to the coach to get the first aid kit.
“Please don’t yell at him,” the oldest said. “He was only seven when the world stopped working. He hasn’t been to school since second grade. He doesn’t know any better.”
Grand theft motor home aside, Jerry admired the kids. They had lasted on their own for years. Many adults had not fared so well. More often than not it wasn’t even the post-apocalyptic dangers that did them in. Their inability to get along was often far more fatal. But these three boys, not even teenagers when they became orphans, had succeeded on their own. Even ferocious mutant bears had not offered a challenge to their will to survive.
He called over his shoulder, “Chewy! Erica! It’s safe. Come on down. They’re not really bears.”
Alex stood before him with a confused look on his face. Jerry realized that he still had the barrel pointed at the teenager. He lowered it and spoke, “It’s amazing what you boys have done here. To take on Super Smart Bears and not only live, but to wear their pelts … That’s something to be proud of.”
“They’re not trophies, mister. We wear them to keep warm. To forage for food and supplies. People usually scatter if they see us coming. You were the only one ever dumb enough to follow us.”
The nomad shrugged, “You shouldn’t have stolen my coach.”
“Whatever. We’ve got to eat. And we’re a little sick of living in a cave.”
Chewy ran up first and placed herself between her master and the boy in the bear c
ostume. She began to growl.
Alex stepped back.
“It’s okay, Chewy. He’s okay.”
All sense of fierceness left the dog’s face. Her growl turned into a large yawn and she wandered to sniff the area.
Erica arrived a moment later. “Fuck me. They aren’t even bears? We’ve been leaving food outside the town for years to keep them away.”
“Thanks for that, by the way,” Alex said.
“You little shit.”
Jerry began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve got a really foul mouth.”
“Fuck you, Dick. Can we go now? You’ve got your precious Winnebago back.”
“It’s not a Winnebago.”
“Whatever. C’mon, Chewy.” She slapped her leg lightly. The large dog stopped sniffing the edge of the clearing and joined her new friend at the stairs of the coach.
Jerry turned back to the boy in the bear suit. “You know that Vita Nova was razed to the ground?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means no more food for you and your brothers.”
“No, what does razed mean?”
“How far did you make it in school?”
“Eighth grade, but I wasn’t very good at it.”
“Razed means destroyed by bad people. Ruined. Gone. Burned.”
The news didn’t faze him. “We’ll get by. We always have. Our dad taught us to hunt and survive.”
“I’m taking the girl with the potty mouth to a town a few days south. It seemed nice.”
“Good for her.”
“That’s my way of saying you can come, too.”
“Oh,” he looked around the clearing in the woods. The loud speakers roared again. They had known no other home for seven years. This stranger was the first person he had spoken to outside of his brothers since his parents died.
“Look, this is your home. If you want to stay, I understand.”
The young man stared up at him.
“It’s a damn forest, dude. What are we going to miss about that?”
“I just thought …”
“We sleep in a cave. On rugs made from other bears.”
Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Page 9