Jorden had sat on the closed toilet seat, behind the drawn shower curtain, while Liv cleaned up. Once Liv was clean, another woman named Rylan had entered. She looked to be in her early twenties. The timid woman seemed uncomfortable looking over Liv’s bruised and broken body.
Her jade-green eyes darted nervously around the room. She tossed aside a lock of reddish-blonde hair that had fallen across her face as she knelt down next to Liv. Her hands were hesitant and gentle as she took hold of Liv’s skin, twisting her this way and that to look closely at each wound.
After what seemed like a silent eternity, Rylan sat back. “Everything looks fine…at least not infected,” she had pronounced quietly, before turning and leaving the small bathroom.
Downstairs, dinner had been laid out on a long wooden table that looked like it could seat twenty people. And to Liv’s surprise, most of the seats were filled. There were more people on the farm than she had thought. Most of them were strangers, but everyone was friendly.
Getting to their seats was a long process. As they walked down the length of the table, Jorden would stop and introduce Liv to people along the way. They would shake hands and offer greetings and other pleasantries before Liv, Jorden, and Elli would move on to the next set of greeters.
Finally, towards the end of the table, they took a seat with Jay. Max appeared a few seconds later carrying a large steaming pot of fluffy, white mashed potatoes. She set the pot down heavily on the table before taking her place at the head of the table.
The meal had been simple. Fresh rolls. A rather plain salad. A large bowl of hard-boiled eggs. And a stew that was so full of vegetables that it was more solid than liquid. The stew didn’t contain any meat. Instead, various beans had been added.
It was the best meal Liv had ever eaten.
Liv didn’t mind that the meal didn’t contain an ounce of meat. After seeing so many bloody body parts and mangled ferals feeding on their victims, the thought of meat was utterly repulsive. There was also so little they understood about the infection still. While they certainly knew about the effects that the infection had on humans, no one seemed to know what effects it would have on animals. Could animals be infected at all? Would the infection manifest in them the way it did in humans? Would they become carriers? Would their flesh be infectious if eaten?
That was the real question.
No one wanted to be the one to test it. So for now, they would lead the lives of vegetarians.
Though the food had been simple, a hardly spiced hodgepodge of vegetables, it had been delicious and delightfully hot. The last five days of canned and cold food brought Liv a new appreciation for a hot meal. She shoveled heaping spoonfuls of the hearty stew into her mouth almost faster than she could chew.
“I’m glad you enjoy my cooking.” Max’s voice was stern as Liv sopped up the remaining juice from the stew with her bread.
Liv flushed a deep shade of red as she realized what a pig she must look like.
The old woman smiled wryly. “Now don’t go gettin’ all flustered. It’s clear you been without for a while.” She bit one of the hard-boiled eggs in half and chewed on it thoughtfully. “You may look no better than death warmed over, but you’re a fighter.” She leveled her gaze at Liv. “The weak are dying. It don’t matter what kind of weak. If you’re weak, you’re dead. You, all of you…” She gestured to the rest of the table, and for the first time Liv realized all other sound at the table had ceased while the woman spoke. “All you folks have fought like hell to be here. You’ve all seen what’s happening. You’ve all seen the death. But the fightin’s not over. There are more hard times to come and more hard work than I think any of us can imagine. Your fightin’ ain’t over yet.”
She slowly looked to each person at the table. Liv was surprised to see the hard determination in Rylan’s face, and she found herself wondering what the shy girl had been through.
Finally, Max’s gaze returned to Liv. “You just arrived. You’ve been out there the longest. What say you?”
Liv wanted to shrink under the table as all eyes turned towards her. Instead, she straightened her tired posture and set her shoulders. Max was testing her. Liv could see it in the woman’s scrutinizing gaze.
“It’s fight or die,” Liv started simply as she locked eyes with Max, holding the old woman’s gaze. “I’m not ready to die yet, so let’s keep on fighting.”
After another tense moment, Max nodded and raised her glass. “To living. To fighting and to all the good folks that make it worthwhile.”
They all raised their water glasses and clinked them together.
With her skin clean and her belly full, Liv now sat on a bed, far away from the others. She dug through her pack until she found the bulky handheld radio. As she flipped on the power, she was greeted with a static hiss. For a moment, Liv stared at the device, concerned that it wouldn’t transmit. That maybe it wouldn’t receive any signals. Even if it couldn’t receive or transmit, she didn’t know how long it would take to find another radio.
Hesitantly, she held down the transmitter, silent as she tried to figure out what to say.
“Officer Ward,” she called tentatively, releasing the transmitter and waiting for a response.
All that returned was static.
“Officer Ward, are you out there?” Was he out there? Was he still alive? Had he found his family? Were they safe and happy out there somewhere? Were they on their way here?
Liv wanted to believe that he had found them. That they were holding each other close somewhere. But she couldn’t believe it. The world had been swallowed by darkness and death, and no one was left untouched.
“Officer Ward, this is Olivia Bennett.” Liv held the small black device close as she spoke into it. Her voice was soft and tired. More than anything, she wanted to sleep. Not yet, though. She had to tell Wyatt that she was here. That she was safe. To let him know that if he was headed this way, he would find a home.
“I haven’t heard from you since that first time we spoke, but I wanted to let you know that we are safe. Elli and I made it to Slag Stead earlier today. The farm is still standing…It’s more than I ever could have hoped for. It’s safe.” She took a breath before continuing. “But much of the road out here isn’t. Troy is overrun with ferals.”
Liv could feel the tears threatened to overtake her voice, and she fought them back.
“I don’t think we would have made it by ourselves. It’s so dangerous and you have to be careful. We met up with some other people. They were really nice. They helped protect us when we needed them most. It was nice just having someone around.”
Liv bit the insides of her cheeks, losing the fight to hold back the tears.
“They’re gone now. They died for us.” She released the button as the tears rolled down her cheeks. When she felt in control again, she pressed in the button. “And then it was just Elli and me again.”
“The ferals are moving in these large roving gangs. We ran right into one. We were stupid and tried to walk right through it while they slept. It didn’t work and we got caught.”
“I don’t want the same to happen to you. The highways are a mess until you get further out along Highway Sixty-One. The ferals cluster around safe havens and linger in areas where there were lots of people. Avoid those. Go as far west as you can around Troy. Slag Stead is safe. There are other people here. My sister is here.” A momentary smile flashed across her face, only to be immediately replaced again by tears. The sobs wracked her body, the pain and sadness and fear of the past five days pouring out.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to contact you again.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “My radio is about to die. I hope you’re out there. I hope you’re on your way.”
Liv held the radio in her hands and listened to the static hiss until eventually it faded away.
Day 37
10:35 am
Liv lifted her face towards the sun. The last few days had been rainy and overcast. Despite the humidity,
it was nice to feel its brilliant rays again.
Slag Stead had been bustling for hours already, but for her, the day was only just beginning. She and half a dozen others were preparing to leave the relative safety that the farm offered.
It was a necessity.
While they had quickly set to work planting crops, there were things they needed that they couldn’t make. Soap. Mechanical parts to replace worn-out pieces of farming machinery. First-aid supplies. Those were always a priority.
The only way they could find those things was by leaving the farm and scavenging the surrounding houses and shopping centers.
The farm had blossomed in the last month as survivors settled into new roles, which were often drastic changes from their old lives. Plowing. Planting. Pulling weeds. Caring for the horses, chickens, and cows. Pickling or drying what crops could be picked and setting them aside for the hard winter months to come. A multitude of tasks needed doing each day to keep the farm running and keep their small colony afloat.
Colony.
Their group wasn’t large, but it had certainly grown. Seventy-eight people called Slag Stead home. Ten elders ran the house. Cleaning, cooking, washing, and mending laundry and other tasks that allowed them to stay indoors while still contributing to the survival of the group. Six children, including Elli, now ran around the farm, filling the air with giggles and shrieking laughter. The other sixty-two residents were able-bodied adults and teenagers who did most of the hard labor.
They had mostly trickled onto the farm in small groups of three or four. The biggest group of arrivals had brought twelve newcomers. Many times they simply stumbled onto the farm. Tired, hungry, and frightened as they looked for a quiet place to rest away from the ferals. Most were surprised to find the place inhabited and welcoming. An oasis in a desert.
Sometimes they were trailed by ferals. Alarms were raised as they dashed for the house and the raiders responded.
The raiders.
This was Liv’s job class. They were comprised of a dozen of the strongest, most capable adults. Their name had arisen after their initial need to raid places outside of the farm for supplies. They never took anything by force, but simply scavenged what had been left behind in homes or abandoned stores and cars.
Eventually, the raiders along with Max decided to expand their job set. As ferals trickled through the woods towards the farm, they began making patrols. In pairs, the raiders would roam in an ever-widening circle radiating out from the farmhouse. Halfway through their twelve-hour shift, their circles would begin to grow smaller until they found themselves back at the house at the end of their shift.
On off days, they trained, strengthening not just their weapons skills but also their stamina for battle. Many of the ferals they came across were only in small packs of three to five, but they had to be prepared for the worst.
They were Slag Stead’s only line of defense.
Life wasn’t easy. Most days were exhausting. A constant struggle left the feeling that little progress was being made as Liv collapsed into bed. Despite the struggle, they were safe. They had food and water. They had beds covered by a roof. They had each other. They had their lives.
It was more than most had.
“Are you ready?” Jay hollered to her. He and his partner, Amil, were already waiting by the truck. Amil was a behemoth of a man. Taller than anyone on the farm, he made Liv feel like a child when she stood next to him.
But there was no one else she would rather have on a supply run. On a previous raid, she had seen the giant slam a feral into a wall and crack its skull open with one hand. He had made it look so easy.
The man was all business when he was on duty, another trustworthy point. Even now, from their relative safety, his nearly black eyes were narrowed as he scanned their surroundings. His skin was a warm golden bronze, which meant he never burned during the long days spent in the sun. His head, though now shaved, had held silky black locks the color of raven feathers.
Many of the men had chosen to shave their heads, including Jay. Hair had to be washed and good shampoo was often not high on their list of priorities.
Though Liv was curious, she had never asked Amil about his roots. Asking about one’s past, family, or heritage had become taboo. Everyone had lost family during the Midnight Days, as the first days had come to be called. They had lost their homes, their friends, their children, their pets. Though everyone seemed to have been able to hold onto one or two mementos, much of what connected them to their old lives was gone. Unless someone first volunteered the information or in some way opened the door to such a conversation, it was considered extremely ill-mannered to ask.
Almost no one volunteered such tidbits.
Almost no one asked.
Most, if any, of these tender questions came from the younger children. Those old enough to know what had happened but perhaps not old enough to grasp the gravity of it all. They only had three at such an age. But even they were learning that these questions, or at least personal ones directed at a specific person, were not welcome.
There were times when Liv thought this was better. The past was the past. For the most part, that was where it stayed. Everyone had been given a fresh start at the time of the outbreak. Many of the prejudices of the past had been erased. Human was human and they needed each other if they were going to survive.
The world was far from perfect. The colony was not necessarily diverse. But she had not heard a whisper of prejudice on the farm since she had arrived. Except where the ferals were concerned. Any hatred the survivors at the farm harbored was redirected to the threat that killed them all indiscriminately.
“I’m good to go.” Her partner wasn’t here yet, but he would be shortly. She zipped up her leather motorcycle jacket. It was made of smooth, soft, black leather with a thin red stripe that ran from the collar down each sleeve to the cuff. Thin metal plates had been sewn in between the liner in the sleeves, back and front, protecting her vulnerable flesh from the vicious maws of the ferals.
The layers were hot, almost suffocating. Liv had grown accustomed to them, but it didn’t make them comfortable. At the end of the day, though, she would rather be protected and uncomfortable than a feral.
“Let’s get going.” Jay bounced back and forth from foot to foot. He liked being off the farm too much. He seemed to feel the most at home out in the dangers of the world.
Liv rolled her eyes.
But before she could form a sarcastic response to his excitement, the sirens sounded. Goosebumps rippled across her skin as the long wailing call rose and fell and rose again. Instead, Jay was still, all excitement gone and replaced with a heavy seriousness.
Liv grasped for the radio clipped to her hip and flipped on the switch, turning the volume up high so the others could hear.
“Attention raiders! Attention raiders!” The greeting was typical. The radios weren’t just used by the raiders but by the entire colony to communicate throughout the day. The call cleared the airwaves so that the raiders could communicate in an emergency without interruptions. “Ferals approaching from the east side of the farm trailing survivors. Approximately fifty-five to sixty ferals and five or six survivors. They are approximately two miles from the clear zone. All hands ready and await Thor’s orders.”
Liv swore. Sixty ferals was more than the four raiders on duty could handle by themselves. The group was also close and probably closing fast if they were being followed by so many ferals. The scavenging party would have to wait. Their help would be needed here.
She raised the radio to her lips. “Thor here. Riders, split the herd. On-duty and standby, form up on me at the house. Weapons ready in sixty seconds.”
The riders were not technically part of the raiders. They were messengers and scouts. The colony only had four riders in total, and they rotated shift every other day, as their days tended to be less rigorous. But in an emergency, the riders had developed tactics to try to separate ferals from survivors by diverting their attent
ion.
This would be the first implementation of those tactics, and while they had practiced on small packs of feral, Liv was nervous about whether it would actually work on a hoard under less controlled circumstances.
The other raiders began to appear quickly. Four on guard, two standby, and the scavenging party of four made the odds better. They would be able to manage. The survivors might be able to fight alongside the raiders, but there was no telling what condition they were in. They had to assume that they were incapable of helping.
The raiders looked nervous as they checked their weapons and pulled on their helmets. They all wore outfits similar to Liv’s. Plated motorcycle jackets. Helmets with visors that protected their heads and faces from attack. And black plate pants similar to the jackets.
Liv pulled her helmet over her head, flipping up the darkened visor. Large, red rubber spikes stood out of the helmet, resembling a Mohawk. Any of the raiders would be able to spot her easily in the fray. The ferals didn’t target leaders. They simply attacked everyone.
“Ready to roll?” Her voice boomed through the air over the low din that had risen across the farm. It wasn’t so much a question as a way to make sure everyone was on the same page. The raiders nodded, their faces hidden by the visors, weapons of various kinds in their hands.
When raider had been declared a job class in the colony, the raiders, along with Max and a few other elders who had a say in all the goings-on around Slag Stead, had voted on the leader. To Liv’s utter surprise, she had received a nearly unanimous vote.
There were others who were certainly capable, others who were certainly stronger than herself, but her protests had fallen on deaf ears. They wanted her as their leader. She still hadn’t figured out why. But if they functioned better with a leader whom they all agreed upon, then who was she to say no? Even if it did put her directly in charge of a dozen lives and would make her directly responsible for any of their deaths.
Devour: Death & Decay Book 1 Page 25