by Janet Durbin
Only bare walls and bits of broken wood from the roof were evident. No furniture remained. The wall dividing the two rooms was in bad shape. The doorway was three times what it should have been. She gave it a quick shake. It held up against her rough handling.
Shyanne went outside and brought Jack into the back room, removing his saddle, bridle, and blanket. She brushed him down as best she could with some dried grass and fed him a handful of grain from the saddlebag. There was no need to hobble him; he never wandered off.
When she finished with Jack, she piled her things in the front room. Shyanne walked around, both inside and out, and gathered wood before it became too dark. She wanted to make sure there was enough to last the night. Afterwards, she dug a small pit. In no time, a fire was burning, the winding cloud of soot disappearing into the night sky above.
She moved her bag closer to the fire and took inventory of her foodstuff. She had had no time to replenish her supplies before the two men confronted her, and was thankful for the gift given by the stableman. She opened the white cotton bundle to see trail bread, jerky, a wedge of hard cheese, along with some dried apples inside. She still had plenty of rice, but it was nice to have something else to go with it.
A small, battered pot emerged from her bag. She placed it on the outer aspect of the fire and poured water in to boil. Some rice followed, along with some of the jerky. The scent of a fine meal soon filled the air.
The pot was one of the few things she had managed to keep from the pre-virus time. When they were little, her parents had taken the twins to a used army supply store and bought each their own camping gear. The thought of parting with the old pot for a new one was more than she could bear. It had too much sentiment attached to it.
After finishing her food, she ate a few of the dried apples. These goodies are to be savored, not wolfed down. She tucked the rest back into the cotton bundle.
Shyanne cleaned up and put everything away before spreading out her blanket. Drizzle had not returned yet, which was nothing out of the ordinary. He sometimes disappeared for days when hunting. She knew he would find her when he was ready.
She placed her sword on the ground next to her. Her boots followed. Crawling beneath the covers, one of her arms slid under her head like a pillow as she looked up at the night sky, listening to the crickets play their music. She was eyeing the constellations above when she heard a noise outside. The crickets became silent.
"Drizzle, you ugly cat, have you finally made it back?"
The noise sounded again. This time, a strange snorting went with it. It was unlike anything the big cat would do. They had been together for a very long time and she knew what sounds he would and would not make.
Shyanne heard growling come from several places beyond the walls. She had a feeling that, whatever was out there, she wasn't going to like it. Frowning, she grabbed her sword and rose to her feet. A full moon shone high in the sky, casting enough light to see.
Her scent, along with that of the horse, was thick in the air. Without a doubt, she knew it would draw the creatures inside. A shadow stretched in from outside. A head appeared. The sight of it nearly took her breath away.
The beast was a cross between a wolf and a lizard. The head hung low to the ground, its ears twirled back and forth, listening for any movement as it slunk through the doorway. Its eyes were located on either side of the head. A long snout filled with razor sharp teeth extended below the eyes. Patches of gray fur showed between large areas of green scales. It was as large as a good-sized wolf. A second one followed. It was just as ugly as the first.
The government had experimented with the DNA of several animals to create “better” ones. The animals were to be used instead of human spies because of their new capabilities, and if captured, they were expendable. The experiments had gone awry, though; it was a case of man trying to be God. Drizzle's kind was one of their few successful cases.
"Oh great. A rizbak."
She had heard about some of the mutations in her travels, but had never seen this particular one before. From what she saw before her, she understood why the information stuck. She also remembered that the rizbak were known to run in packs, and be very aggressive and cunning.
"Man, are you ugly,” she said as the stench of the beast hit her nose. “Phew ... you stink!"
She gripped her sword firmly with both hands and wished technology had not died with the virus.
"What I would do for a gun right now."
Time had made guns and the ammo for them useless hunks of rust.
Shyanne backed up close to the wall. She knew the rizbak liked to get behind their prey and bite the hamstring to disable it. She was not going to allow them the chance to do that to her.
The creatures stopped. After only a few seconds, one rizbak came in her direction while the other went toward Jack. It was as if they had spoken to each other mentally before moving.
The walking nightmare approached with its head slightly angled, mouth hanging open. A long thread of dribble trailed from the mouth. It stank of dead animals. She wished she could plug her nose. The rizbak halted its progress when it was about two sword lengths from her.
For what seemed like only a second, Shyanne looked at the beast going toward her horse. The one in front of her attacked. It had been waiting for such an opportunity.
A sharp, burning twinge in her left thigh forced her attention back. It had raked her and darted out of range before she could think to bring her sword down. The claws were as sharp as Drizzle's. They cut into her pants and skin with ease. Blood flowed down her leg. She paid no attention to it. The pain was intense, but she ignored it, as well.
"So fast,” she whispered. “I'll have to give my full attention to this one if I want to survive this battle."
The rizbak turned and came in for another pass. Shyanne brought her sword up and felt it meet resistance. The creature jumped back before she was able to follow through. While it paced, its tongue hanging out, panting, she could see a trail of blood on the ground beneath it.
"I got you,” she said as the trail grew with each pass.
A high-pitched scream sounded to her right. This time, she knew better than to look away. Watching the beast pace in front of her, she hoped Jack would be all right.
"I won't be fooled this time, you son of a jackass!"
Suddenly, Shyanne heard a noise above her. She glanced up quickly, then returned her gaze to the one in front of her before it could attack. A third rizbak was on top of the wall. It had climbed one of the fallen roof timbers and had worked its way around behind her. She knew she would not be able to watch two of them. They were too fast and worked too well as a pack.
"I'll at least take one of you scumbuckets with me! I won't go down that easy!"
She inched slowly away from the rizbak on the wall. The creature looked down with keen interest, crouching low in preparation of leaping.
Just as she thought the end was near, Drizzle appeared. He faced the rizbak above her. With his ears flattened against his head and a growl from deep in his chest, he attacked. The rizbak fell with a single swipe. It never stood a chance against the powerful speed of the big cat.
The one in front of her attacked during the distraction caused by the fighting above. Shyanne caught a glimpse of the jump from the corner of her eye and ducked to her right. She brought her sword up, felt an intense pain in her left shoulder, and went down hard. The beast fell past her in a heap, dead, a pool of blood spreading across the ground from a gaping wound in its chest.
In an instant, Shyanne was on her feet. She had to see how her horse had fared. Jack stood in a corner, a dead rizbak on the ground before him, trampled and broken. He had several scratches on him; none looked deep or life threatening.
As she started to make her way toward him, an ever-consuming darkness seemed to get in her way. She shook her head to clear it. It only grew worse. She could not make sense of it. She knew the moon was shining bright, as was the fire in the pit. S
o why was everything so dark and fuzzy?
Shyanne tried to lift her sword. It hurt too much to do so. She grimaced, deciding to drag the weapon behind her instead. Something sticky and wet seemed to be all over her hand. It made it difficult to keep a grip on the handle. She refused to drop it. More rizbak might show up.
She was halfway across the room when it started to lean, and the growing darkness finally consumed everything, including her.
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Chapter Four
Several days had passed since Drayco left the ruined metropolis. He kept mostly to the well-traveled roads, occasionally taking the less used ones when he wanted to avoid people and the conversations that went with them. The road he walked on today crossed an open plain. A large grouping of trees was visible in the distance. No one else was on the road with him.
The survival training he had received from his father many years ago had paid off a hundred times over in this post-virus world. He missed his father dearly and wished he had been among the lucky few to survive. The outings they had taken, just the two of them, allowed him to have a bond stronger than most of his friends had with their fathers.
Thanks for getting me ready, Dad, even though you didn't know you were.
As he walked, his body started to let him know it would need blood soon. He tried to forget the many times he'd almost died before recognizing those signals. Exertion caused him to drink more frequently. The steady, uneventful pace he set had not caused such an increase.
Drayco hated what the virus had done to him. His need for blood made it difficult to stay around others. In the past, he'd had relationships. They always ended in disaster. His increasing need to see Shyanne, and a strong will to survive, were the only things that kept him from ending the madness.
Twilight was growing on the horizon. He needed to find shelter soon. Neither his strength, nor the sword he carried, would protect him from some of the things that came out in the night.
He was closing on the stand of trees when he noticed a twinkling of light through them. As he entered, Drayco saw several lavishly decorated wagons parked in a circular pattern in a clearing amongst the trees. A fire burned bright. People sat around the flames; laughter and conversations echoed from them. A cook pot bubbled; the scent of stew was everywhere. Near them, horses grazed.
The dark twin crouched low and watched how the people behaved before he attempted to enter. In this day and age, people had to be cautious. Otherwise, they wound up on the wrong end of a sword.
The men wore loose, pullover shirts with flowing sleeves gathered at the wrist. Leather straps created a crisscross pattern at the neck. Their pants were tight, yet the material flexed easily with movement. They belled out over their boots. A colorful sash wrapped around the waist. A couple of the men wore white sashes. Drayco assumed these men were unattached. Some had moustaches while others were clean-shaven. None sported a beard. Every one of the men was stocky and muscular.
The women, on the other hand, came in all sizes and shapes. They wore long, flowing, one-piece dresses. A sash the same color as their man wrapped around their waist, showing to whom they belonged. The laughter and the smell of the stew helped solidify his decision; he stepped into the clearing.
"Hello,” he called out.
He did not wish to startle these people. Surprised people killed first, then asked questions when it was too late. An elderly man with gray hair pulled back into a ponytail rose and came toward him.
"Welcome, young man. What can we do for you?"
"Your stew smells good. I was hoping I could impose on you for a hot meal and the safety of numbers from the denizens of the night. I have money to pay for it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of gold coins.
"No, no,” the elderly man said. He pushed the hand holding the coins back. “You keep it. Come enjoy our food without the worries of paying for it.” Drayco returned the coins to his pocket. “My name is Brind. And you are?"
"Drayco."
"What brings you out into this hostile environment alone, Drayco?” He started toward the fire, waving for the younger man to follow.
"I'm searching for my sister. I heard about a woman in these parts who might be her. I came to see if it is so."
"I wish you luck, my boy."
Brind sat down on a log and indicated for Drayco to sit next to him. After doing so, he was introduced to the rest of the group. Each acknowledged him in turn.
One man in particular stood out.
Garrett was loud and tried to pick fights with the other men. He bothered the women in ways considered inappropriate. Drayco could tell Garrett felt himself to be a ladies man because of his long blond hair and good looks. The sash around his waist was white. The rest of the people ignored him. His antics grated on Drayco's nerves. The dark man kept his face expressionless. He did not want to cause any trouble.
"We are a clan of Wanderers. We welcome others openly into our camp, especially in these hard times."
Brind opened his arms wide, indicating the people around him. He winked at an older woman wearing a sash the same color as his standing behind the dark man. She nodded her head in understanding and reached into one of the pockets on her dress.
Drayco was surprised by the friendliness of these people. He had heard about Wanderers during his travels. Nothing he'd heard had mentioned them being this open toward strangers. Rather, it was more like the opposite.
The conversations continued while the women prepared the food. When it was ready, the old woman handed Drayco a plate heaped with stew and a large mug of wine. Setting the mug down, Drayco scooped up several pieces of meat and vegetables and put them in his mouth. The stew tasted better than he had imagined. He had his supplies, but a hot, homemade meal was a rare treat. The plate was empty in no time. He followed it with a long draw of the wine. It had a bitter aftertaste. He shrugged it off as him being not used to wine. More stew was offered; he refused. He continued to sip from the mug and enjoy the company of the Wanderers while the rest finished their food.
Suddenly, he felt very sleepy. He reached up to wipe his eyes. The hand was blurry and would not hold still when he looked at it. He tried to rise, but found that he couldn't. His legs felt like they were made of rubber. They would not support his weight. The mug in his hand clattered to the ground. The Wanderers gathered around him, anticipation on their faces.
"The wine,” Drayco yelled. “You put something in it! Watch out for your fellow man, huh? Only for what you can steal from them with tricks and lies.” His words came out slurred; his eyes felt as heavy as lead weights.
He tried to fight when the men approached, but quickly lost the battle. All the faces started to blend together. Hands grabbed him everywhere, taking his sword and pack from him. Two faces stayed clear in the sea of many—Brind and Garrett. The last thing he heard before the world went away was the sound of an old woman cackling.
* * * *
Drayco awoke to the sun beating down on him. He had a headache that could knock a horse over and his throat felt worse than parched paper. He remembered the Wanderers with their drugged wine and sat up quickly. The sudden movement increased the throbbing in his head. The pain caused him to lean over and retch. When his body calmed down, he looked around. He was alone.
He felt weak and shaky when he stood up, and felt his pockets. The money was gone. The knife stored in his boot was also gone. The place where his sword normally rested was vacant. It felt as if a part of him had been yanked out.
"They took everything,” he said with disgust.
The look that settled on the dark man's face would have made anyone grateful they were not the intended target of his wrath. He did not mind so much losing the pack or the other things, but the sword he carried was a gift from long ago—it was a gift from his grandfather.
Drayco remembered coming home after a particularly difficult match where he had lost. The older man met him at the door and took him into the living room.
A wrapped bundle lay on the coffee table. The sword was inside. The thought of those Wanderers touching it with their thieving hands was almost too much for him to bear.
He began to look for their tracks. Horse drawn wagons filled with people and their belongings tended to leave marks in the soft ground. It was not long before he found what he was after. The tracks led westward.
The sun was shining high in the sky when he started out. He hoped they were only half a day ahead of him. If it was more than one, he would have a harder time catching up to them. But catch up to them, he would.
The dark man's body needed blood. He refused to acknowledge it. His thoughts were on the treachery used, and how easily they had played him.
Those Wanderers have no idea who they are dealing with. They will understand fully once I'm through with them.
Drayco walked at a steady, ground-eating pace. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them burn as if hot coals were imbedded in them. He used his sleeve to wipe off the streams that flowed down his face. Even though the nights were cooler, the days were still hot.
No one was on the road, for which he was thankful. He did not wish to meet anyone in his present state of mind, only the ones he sought. His body started giving him stronger signals that it needed blood. He ignored it still. He would soon solve the problem when he caught up with the treacherous group.
The tracks stayed with the road. He kept an eye on them in case they turned aside. As dusk approached, the tracks did just that. The wagon wheels cut a path in the ground toward a clump of trees. The arrogance of this group was amazing. They made no attempt to cover their trail.
I guess they thought I would simply give up and go away, he thought as he crept into the woods. How wrong they were for underestimating their victim.
Darkness was upon him when he reached the camp. Drayco had taken his time to keep from alerting the group of his presence. A cook fire burned, a pot of leftovers boiling over. The families were sitting around it laughing and kidding with each other, same as the last time he'd seen them. The conversation, though, was different.