She grabbed Jacob by the sleeve and pulled him along as she crept toward the side of the building. A full view of the street quickly explained the sudden break away of the dead. There were more survivors, how many she couldn’t be certain, but she counted at least a dozen. The group was moving north away from the tribal buildings. The survivors were a good distance ahead of the trailing zombies, but several infected mixed among the undead were catching up.
Mia spun around, pushed Jacob, and forced him to run. They were on the other side of the building a moment later, heading north along the street parallel to the group of survivors. Mia had her knife in hand, not certain how much good it would do her. She was aware of her surroundings, mentally locking onto the landmarks she knew. Their direction would lead them straight into the outlands with very few places to make a suitable stand between where they were and the city boundary.
Mia’s speed increased with amazing strides. It wasn’t until she lost sight of the burning tribal rooftops that she remembered Jacob. She came to a stop and discovered the old man a full block behind her. He was pressing, running with his arms in full extension on each step. His mouth was wide open and it appeared as if he might collapse at any moment. Mia’s concern for him didn’t override her thoughts of her kin. She waved Jacob on and waited until she could hear his panting breaths before pushing down the road between the major cross streets. Mia reached the far end of the building and the sounds of the coming multitude hit her before she took in the view.
The darkness could not hide the terrible state of the fleeing tribe. They were a pitiful sight, twenty of them at most, a majority of them hobbling and stumbling as they ran. They’d managed to pull away from the larger trailing mass of the dead, but a handful of infected were closing in fast. Mia took one last look at the remains of her people and then dashed out into the street.
The faces came into view one at a time; Mia knew them although her mind couldn’t place the names amongst the chaos. There were children mixed within the group, most clinging to their loved ones. Blood and muck marked them all, young and old alike. The terror was overwhelming and a certainty of death clung to every set of eyes. One voice rose from the group, forcing Mia to take notice.
“Father?”
Arkin struggled to run, a man on either side helping him go. His chest was bare, stained crimson from cuts and gashes. He clung to his guides with the last of his strength. His eyes met Mia’s and the profound sadness nearly brought her to her knees. Mia’s voice shook as she tried to keep the goal of survival in mind.
“You can’t out run them,” she said, barking out orders. “Everyone who has the strength to fight must do it now.”
The remains of the tribe came to a slow march. Confusion washed across their faces as the trauma of the moment took hold. Arkin encouraged the others to follow his daughter’s commands.
“We must stand and fight.”
The sound of the council elder’s voice broke through the devastation. Several of the remaining men took up what little arms they had and turned to face the infected. Mia stepped past her father as the others pressed into an alleyway. Jacob rushed in to join her and together the last of the Cheyenne Tribe stared down the coming fight.
11
It was difficult to get back into the building. Rowan struggled to hold Garret’s weight as he lowered him off the roof. Garret reached a broken window three stories down, hanging onto a makeshift rope they pieced together. Rowan swung the rope hard enough to give him the momentum he needed to grab the ledge and pull himself inside. Rowan’s descent was quick and they crouched beneath the window looking at an open doorway leading out into the main hall.
“It’s quiet,” Rowan said.
“Too quiet.” Garret kept his back against the wall and forced himself to stand. “They were everywhere.”
There wasn’t a hint of the dreadful dead-speak. Something drastic had happened during the time Rowan was on the roof. He found the same question digging into his brain.
“How did they ever get up there?”
Garret shrugged. “Most of us were sleeping.” His eyes never left the doorway. “Somehow they got past the watch, I can’t imagine.”
“Mia came after me,” Rowan said in a sheepish tone. “I got hurt and she came back.” He kept their encounter with Jacob to himself. “She’s down there somewhere and it’s my fault.”
Garret started for the door. “Well, if she hadn’t come looking for you in the first place, she’d probably already be dead.”
Rowan nodded in silent agreement and walked after him. The hall was painfully quiet. There was no sign of movement in any direction. Rowan couldn’t shake an odd feeling that they were alone. They reached the entrance to a stairwell and he pushed the handle and looked in at an empty landing.
“I don’t understand,” Rowan said. “They were after me. They nearly got a hold of me before I reached the window.”
Garret pressed his hand against the wall to keep himself up. He took a step forward and nearly collapsed. Rowan knew he wouldn’t admit that he needed help so he grabbed his arm and pulled it around his neck without asking.
“It’s going to be a long way down,” Garret said, eyeing the stairs.
Rowan pushed the door the rest of the way open with his foot and started in.
“Then let’s get it over with.”
The descent took much longer than either of them would have imagined. Garret’s wounds forced him to stop at every landing. He ground his teeth with each step and had to sit down before attempting the last few floors. Neither of them spoke and the silence was never broken. They reached the bottom floor and Rowan led them directly out the main entrance of the building. They looked around, bewildered. There was no sign of the mindless mob nor the blood-crazed, infected horde corralling the dead.
“Where would they go?”
Rowan listened to his own question as if it was a riddle.
“They who?” Garret asked.
“Survivors,” Rowan said and then lowered his voice, “Mia.”
“Let me go.”
Garret pulled away and managed to stay up on his own. He eased down on to the pavement then stretched his legs out. He tore a section off the sleeve of his shirt and began to wrap it around his blood-soaked pant leg.
“Survivors.” Garret said the word with the hint of a laugh, but something else in his voice made him sound like he might burst into tears at any moment. “I hope there’s enough survivors to go looking for.”
Rowan hesitantly placed a hand on Garret’s shoulder.
“Let’s start with one.”
Garret brushed his hand away.
“I only need a moment and I’ll be ready to move.”
Rowan was instantly reminded of the distance between them and how little they got along. He took a few steps away and waited. Garret got back to his feet on his own then urged Rowan to continue with a head nod. The morning light slowly settled in between the buildings as they made their way through the city. It took a while for Rowan to realize he’d subconsciously followed the rout the hunting parties took after the council’s decision to verify his accounts of Darian’s death. The direction struck him when they came to a stop at the corner where he first discovered Mia and Jonah were following him. Garret studied the sky beyond the buildings ahead of them.
“We’ll be at the boundary soon.”
Garret hadn’t posed it as a question, but Rowan figured that’s what it was. He’d picked up on the faint sound of dead-speak and used that as his guide for their direction. There was little else to steer them.
“We should rest up for a while,” Rowan said. “There’s no telling what we’ll find.” He had to believe Mia and Jonah were out there somewhere. He told himself that the infected ran off because they were chasing something and that something was most likely the surviving tribal members.
“Let’s see if we can get up onto a roof.”
Garret’s idea was a good one. If they could reach the building wh
ere he, Rowan, and Barrick first saw the invading horde of infected, they’d be able to see the outlands, and with luck, survivors. They walked another few blocks before settling on a building. The edge of the city was in sight and there was a good chance the view would give them a hint of where they needed to go next.
Garret’s strength was holding. His wounds didn’t appear to be as bad as Rowan initially thought, but it was obvious they weren’t going to get any better without rest. Rowan’s strength wasn’t much better. He didn’t know how much longer they could keep moving.
They settled on a three-story structure set on a corner lot of the block. The stairs ran all the way to the top floor, but the climb was slow going for the fading climbers. They were forced to kick open the roof top door, smashing the lock in the process. Rowan stepped out with his knife in hand, unsure if he had the strength to fight if he needed to. Garret was reduced to leaning against the doorframe.
“We have to eat.”
Rowan heard the disdain in Garret’s voice as if embarrassed by his admission.
“I know,” he said. “You gonna be all right there?”
Rowan waited for a response, but only received a begrudging grunt. He headed for the far end of the building, aiming for the corner adjacent to the doorway. The rooftop was littered with trash, a clear indicator that someone had recently tried to settle there for a time. He reached the corner of the building and hopped up onto the flat ledge. His eyes found the vast outlands only a block away.
The overgrown grass was alive, swaying from side to side. Sunlight stretched out across the shifting blades and revealed countless heads of an infected flock marching through the grassland. Rowan’s eyes worked frantically across the horror of what he was seeing. There was no sign of survivors, nothing to give him hope that anyone escaped such an imposing force.
“Well?”
Rowan was shocked by the sound of Garret’s voice and even more surprised to find him standing a few feet from his side. Rowan shook his head, unsure of what to say.
“The infected are everywhere.” He dropped down and took a new look at their surroundings. “I’ll have to scavenge.” He thought about it then pulled his pack off and laid it down. He rummaged through the contents and found the remainder of Jacob’s leftovers. There was enough in his waterskin to get him through a day or two at best, maybe a day if he had to share it. “Eat some.” He handed a swatch of dried meat to Garret then swished around the contents of his waterskin before offering it up. “This is all I have left.”
Garret took both and quickly forced a handful of the meat into his mouth. He took a long pull from the waterskin before something stopped him.
“You’re going to leave me here, aren’t you?”
Rowan nodded then spoke over Garret before he could interrupt.
“You can bar the door.” He picked his pack up off the ground. “It’s not much, but the supplies should last until you get your legs back under you.”
Garret couldn’t hide the genuine surprise on his face.
“You’re going to follow them?”
Rowan looked back at the grassland and nodded.
“You don’t even know if she’s out there,” Garret reminded him.
Rowan started for the door. “I have to see for myself.” He was jogging, determined not to be talked out of going. “Give me the day and I’ll come back for you.”
♦
The grass danced under the power of the wind. The sun was high above the trees, sending the full heat of the day across the outlands. Rowan stood near the boundary unsure if he’d ever live to see the city again. The sound of the infected was lost somewhere across the meadow, but he knew they were out there.
It took every ounce of courage Rowan had to step into the towering grass. He kept moving forward with slow, hesitant steps. He adjusted his grip on his knife over and again, the feel of it somehow calming his nerves. Sweat built on his brow as the temperature rose within the grassland.
His apprehension kept him at a painfully deliberate pace. Sweat drenched his shirt by the time the tree line was within reach. The high cottonwood trees stood as a gate for the unknown. No one from the Cheyenne Tribe had ventured beyond the woods for over a generation. The mythic nature of what lay beyond was too terrifying to imagine. Rowan stood staring at the barrier for a long time before convincing himself he had no other option but to continue. The thought of Mia and Jonah trapped somewhere deep within the woods drove him to cross the final distance.
Stepping into the woods was like stepping into a completely new world. Rowan came to a stop and took in his surroundings. The sounds he’d lost out in the grassland came back to life under the mighty canopy. The echo of hundreds of stopping feet rushed toward him and the sheer volume overwhelmed Rowan. His heart seized in his chest as he realized the endless sifting shapes in the distance between the trees was the mass of infected he’d been tracking. He instinctively dropped down to the ground and held his breath.
They were everywhere ahead of him, covering the space between the trees as far and wide as he could see. The figures slipped between the mighty tree trunks with each step pushing further into the wild with little concern for who might be following them. The dead-speak grew louder, somehow amplified now that Rowan could see them. A cry arose from the lisping chatter and the common shrill pulled at Rowan’s heart. There was no way to identify the caller, but he was more certain than ever that at least one of the surviving members of the tribe was near.
Rowan moved from tree to tree, each time pulling his arms in as close to his body as possible. He watched the row of figures ahead before rushing forward, advancing closer with ever step. Adrenaline urged him on, although he knew exhaustion would soon follow. The front line of trees was lost in the distance and Rowan found himself deep in the unknown.
The canopy grew thicker overhead and the light dimmed as the terrain under the cover changed. The flat land rose and then fell away as hills replaced the smooth surface. The patchwork of fallen leaves was smashed into the soil by the trampling feet of the horde. Rowan’s view drifted between the trees and the sea of footprints on the ground ahead of him.
The horde pulled away as Rowan’s adrenaline faded and the true measure of the daylong travel wore on him. He felt like one of the mindless dead, lumbering forward with little thought of where he was going or what he was doing. Rowan didn’t register the change in the sound of the dead-speak until he reached the crest of a large hill and nearly stepped out into the open. He fell down on his belly the moment his head was exposed.
Rowan tried to piece together the quick glimpse of what lay ahead, but the vision didn’t make any sense to him. He crawled ahead until the bridge of his nose was level with the crest and a wide valley took over the landscape. Trees lined the basin like a perfectly laid fence line, wrapped in an expansive oval. The other side of the hill ran down into a deep depression that leveled out about halfway across the basin.
Rowan’s eyes ran along the valley floor from one side to the other and his mind struggled to understand what he was seeing. A number of crudely crafted structures dotted the landscape, most of which appeared to be the remnants of some long-forgotten settlement. The infected mass had split into several small groups, each one centered on one of the structures. Some of the groups walked around the buildings in loose gatherings with no evident purpose; however, Rowan locked on to the largest faction near the center of the gathering place.
The cries told him what his eyes couldn’t pick out until he studied the formation. There were a number of people, survivors he guessed, being forced into one of the structures. The reality of the infected’s actions didn’t hit him until one of them pushed the final survivor inside and shut a gate behind them. Jacob’s words fluttered back into his mind.
They’re evolving.
There was no doubting what he was seeing. The infected were housing the living like cattle, keeping their food source close and protected. The revelation was so profound that Rowan didn’t
hear the footsteps until a movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. The dead poured out of the undergrowth like a tidal wave. The first of them tumbled over one another, diving to the ground to get their rotting hands on Rowan’s flesh. He rolled out of the way, but not before one of them grabbed a hold of his leg.
Rowan yelled, but even in his frightened state he recognized the instant change of the constant dead-speak down in the valley. He clawed at the ground and yanked his leg free, getting to his feet as more than a dozen zombies bore down on him. He was running and the space beneath the cottonwood canopy was alive in every direction. A wailing moan erupted between the trees in one long song and the impact shook Rowan to his core.
He ran as fast as his legs would carry him and the state of his body was quickly clear. His legs ached and his lungs burnt with every step. Everywhere he turned, the dead were closing in. The moaning grew at an alarming rate until no other sound could compete against it.
Rowan ran blindly, unaware of his direction. His options for escape lessened by the second as the lumbering figures pressed in from either side. The closest among them came into full view and their abhorrent look was enough to cause Rowan to stagger. Bare, graying skin dotted the space between the trees. Naked men and women reached out for him, begging for a bite. Open wounds dangled bits of rotted entrails from necks to navels. They slammed into one another with little recognition of their surroundings, each one focused on a single purpose.
Rowan pressed as hard as he could, using every ounce of energy that remained in his body. The dead closed in all around him and he saw no sign of escape. Rowan stumbled as the strength slipped from his legs, tripping twice before tumbling onto the hard dirt. He pushed up to his knees and found dirty hands in front of his face.
Rowan slashed his knife blindly, severing fingers with his cut. The dead grabbed a hold of him with no acknowledgement of its newly lost digits. Its decaying breast smacked Rowan on the face as it pressed itself down on top of him. He managed to get his forearm up under its chin and force the zombie’s head back before it could tear into him. He jabbed his knife into its side, opening a gash under the arm.
The Decaying World Saga (Book 1): Tribes of Decay Page 10