The Survivors (Book 2): Autumn

by Dreyer, V. L.

  The gesture took me completely by surprise; I squealed like a stuck pig. A second later, I laughed and shoved myself out of his embrace, rubbing my poor, abused bottom. Then his words struck me, and I felt like a teenage girl with her first crush all over again.

  “You really think I’m pretty…?”

  He’d said it before, but it still felt strange. I’m aware of my physical properties, of course – every person judges his- or herself in front of a mirror at least once in their lifetime – but hearing the words from the lips of someone you adored was a whole other story. It made me feel all twisted up inside, a Gordian knot of tangled emotions.

  “No,” he chided, which shattered my daydream and took me by surprise, but a second later he smiled and clarified his words. “I do believe I said ‘fucking gorgeous’. There’s a difference.”

  “Oh.” Man, he was really good at rendering me speechless. Not sure what else to say, I settled for being polite. Mama may have raised a crazy girl, but she didn’t raise a rude one. “Thank you, I think.”

  “You think? Hah!” Michael grabbed both of our bags and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, the others will be waiting.”

  Unable to resist the allure of his boyish charm, I let myself be led away. Sure enough, the others were waiting in the foyer, ready to depart. Skye took one look at us as we made our way down the stairs and rolled her eyes. “Oh God, Sandy’s mutating into a tomato again. What’d you do this time, Michael?”

  “He didn’t do anything,” I said in Michael’s defence. By the time we reached them, my emotions had started to settle down, shifting from a turbulent ocean of conflicting pride and self-consciousness into a buoyant sort of happiness. “He was just giving me a pep talk, that’s all.”

  “Sure, he was.” Skylar gave me a disbelieving look, but let it drop. Instead, she handed me a small jar, full of what looked like mayonnaise. “Here. The doctor made us some sunscreen. We probably won’t need it today, but bring it anyway. You know, just in case.” She shot Michael a long, pointed look. The filthy look that he gave her in return made me smile. The relationship between my sister and my lover was an endless source of amusement to me. It was like an antagonistic brother/sister relationship, which was kind of appropriate, considering the circumstances.

  “I’ll make sure to put some on if the sun comes out,” I promised, cutting them both off before the banter could turn into an actual argument. “We should go. I’m not sure how long the weather’s going to hold off.”

  Noises of agreement met my comment, and the group of us finally pulled ourselves together enough to leave. Anahera and Hemi took the lead, wheeling their light farm bikes so the rest of us could keep pace. Skylar walked with them, looking bright and full of energy for the first time since she’d lost her baby. There was a spring in her step, and she quickly fell into conversation with our new friends.

  Michael and I lagged behind. At some point he took my hand – or perhaps I took his, I’m not really sure. It just sort of happened, like it was the most natural thing in the world. We walked together in companionable silence, until a thought popped into my head that I felt the need to express.

  “Sandrine.”

  “What?” He looked at me, one brow raised.

  “My full first name. It’s Sandrine,” I explained. It was a trust thing; I didn’t usually tell people my full first name, because it was too painful to hear it spoken out loud. Still, I trusted Michael. He deserved to know.

  “Oh.” He went silent while he thought that over, staring off into the distance.

  “It was my grandmother’s name,” I elaborated for him, trying to explain why I felt so strongly about it. “I was named after her, but when I was little everyone called me Sandy so there wouldn’t be any confusion. She… died.”

  “And now it hurts to hear her name,” he finished for me.

  I nodded, looking down at the long grass in front of my feet. “She made me promise, that when she got too sick to speak… she didn’t want to become one of the wandering dead. My gun belonged to her, but she gave it to me. I had to… t-to…” I swallowed hard, struggling to get the words out.

  Michael shook his head and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to say it, sweetheart. I understand. You had to kill her, because you loved her. Now every time you hear your own name, it reminds you of what you had to do.”

  Damn, he was good.

  I nodded again, fighting back a wave of misery that threatened to bring tears to my eyes. Sweet and intuitive as always, Michael let me have some time to recover from the emotional onslaught.

  “I already knew your full name,” he finally admitted. Perplexed, I looked up at him, and he gave me a faint smile. “Your sister. She didn’t tell me directly, but I overheard her when she was chasing us, back in the bunker.”

  “Oh, of course. I forgot about that.” It made sense, now that I thought about it. Skylar had spit the dummy over something, and I had scampered away and hidden. Somehow, I’d ended up hiding right beside Michael. Of course he had heard. “Well, geez. Way to ruin it. That was supposed to be how I was going to show you I finally trust you with my big secret.”

  “It still works,” he answered softly, his smile growing. “You telling me means way more than overhearing your sister screaming at you. You don’t have to worry, though. I won’t use it unless you ask me to. I couldn’t bear to do anything that upsets you.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled back, relieved that he was so understanding. That he’d known all along and hadn’t said a word, even in jest, meant more to me than words could possibly express.

  We walked in contented silence for a long time after that.

  Chapter Five

  Although it wasn’t far as the crow flies, the journey took longer than it would have in the old days, even on foot. Ten years ago, you could have driven from Ohaupo to Lake Ngaroto in fifteen minutes, but Anahera told me that the roads were unreliable and overgrown. As we walked westwards, I started to see evidence of what she meant.

  The farther we got from Ohaupo, the more wild and unpredictable the route became. Once, the area had been flat, green pastureland dotted by picturesque farm houses, but nature had gone mad in the decade since human supervision ended. The grass stood waist-high in places, and the debris from a hundred storms hindered us at every turn. It forced us to go slowly and carefully, particularly those of us with the bikes – a punctured tyre could turn a useful tool into trash.

  Eventually, the grass gave way to young native bush. That came as a relief, since it was easier to negotiate the thin undergrowth than the long grass. That’s not to say it was easy going, though; heavy ferns and bushes grabbed at our feet, forcing us to take a twisting path between the trees.

  For whatever reason, the herds of feral farm animals seemed to have avoided these parts, letting the plants grow lush and verdant since there was nothing to keep them in check. Birds sang in the trees overhead, fell silent as we passed beneath them, then resumed their songs only once we were out of sight. The familiar, distinctive warble of a territorial tui made me smile.

  “Keep an eye out for rabbit,” Hemi said, keeping a wary eye on the ground near his feet. “Sometimes they get infected.”

  I’d seen them before, so the warning came as no great surprise to me, but Michael looked positively horrified. “Zombie bunnies? That’s a thing?”

  “Yeah.” Hemi shrugged helplessly. “Not always, though. Just sometimes. I guess it depends on the bunny.”

  “Are they violent?” Michael asked. His expression was one of such distress that I felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him, despite the ridiculousness of it all.

  “Nah.” Hemi paused, then shot us a thoughtful look. “Well, not usually. Sometimes. We usually shoot them if we see them, just in case.”

  “The poor little things.” Michael looked crestfallen. Suddenly, he realised we were all staring at him, and his expression turned defensive. “What? I like bunnies. They’re cute. There’s noth
ing wrong with a grown man liking bunnies.”

  “Whatever you say, honey.” I patted his hand, amused. Who was I to judge? I liked bunnies, too. Just not zombie bunnies. Being the shining beacon of diplomacy that she was, Anahera discreetly distracted us.

  “The path should be just over there,” she said, pointing through the trees. I couldn’t see anything, but our guides seemed confident that they knew where they were going. Sure enough, a few minutes later sunlight broke through the canopy and we emerged into a clearing.

  My foot struck something solid as I stepped forward. I looked down, and saw railway sleepers nestled beneath the short grass. A glance in either direction confirmed my suspicion: the path continued along a tunnel framed by lush trees, the boughs arching high overhead but not encroaching on the path. Even after all these years, the old railway line was still a solid means of travel. Long after the trains had turned to rust, we could use the scars they left upon the landscape as a walkway. Our boots crunched across gravel as we travelled southwards, but the grass struggled to take root in it.

  We travelled much faster once we were inside that emerald corridor. As we walked, I looked around and saw the tell-tale signs of human occupation emblazoned on the local plant life. The tracks left by human feet and small tyres grew in frequency the farther south we went, marking the routes that Anahera and her tribe travelled the most.

  An hour later, we left the tracks and followed a narrow path that branched off to the west. This one showed even more obvious signs of human interest in the region; the trees had been cut back and the scrub cleared, to keep the passageway clear. After following the slender green corridor for a few minutes, the trees began to thin out. The sounds of civilization reached us before we saw it: a dog barked, accompanied by the distant murmur of voices raised in good-natured chatter, occasionally broken by the sound of laughter.

  We rounded a bend and came to a halt as the camp opened up before us. Raw wooden palisades built atop earthen ramparts formed a wall, built up to a height of at least two metres. In front of the walls, a carefully-planned line of trenches and platforms marked the hillside, forming an impressively formidable defensive position.

  Even I recognised the ingenuity of the design. If an enemy force wanted to get close to this village, they would have to negotiate the trenches and platforms to reach the walls, which would slow them down significantly. The heavy gates stood open at the moment, and a ramp had been lowered over the defences to welcome the travellers home.

  Within the compound, I saw a mixture of old, pre-plague buildings, and newer, rough-hewn structures made from local materials. Rising high above the walls, an observation platform of carved logs stood silhouetted against the midday sun. I looked around and realised the land had been cleared for more than a hundred metres in any direction, so neither friend nor foe could approach without being spotted.

  And spotted we were. The sentry shouted something I couldn’t hear and waved broadly at us. Anahera and Hemi waved back.

  “More than two hundred years ago, my ancestors fought the largest land battle in New Zealand’s history on this very spot,” Anahera told us, pride glinting in her eye. She swept her arm out towards the village, and bowed. “This may not compare to the mighty pā of my ancestors, but I am proud to call this spot home. Haere mai, my friends – welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Michael murmured, his deep voice almost a rumble. “We appreciate being invited.”

  “You shared your home and your hearth with us; it is only fair that we return the favour.” Anahera smiled, and beckoned for us to follow her. “I hope you will forgive us for skipping the formalities. As much as I try to keep my people’s traditions alive, I have little patience for ceremony.”

  I was a little relieved to hear that. You could fit the amount I knew about traditional Maori welcoming ceremonies on the back of a 10 cent piece, and I hated the idea of doing something wrong and upsetting my new friends.

  People had begun to gather near the entrance by the time we reached the ramp, a half-dozen men of all ages, shapes and sizes. A couple had lighter skin than the rest, indicating that they had other ethnicities mixed in with their Maori blood, but they didn’t seem bothered by or excluded because of that fact. Anahera led us towards them, and as we drew closer I could hear the sound of excited chatter amongst them.

  “You’re the first women besides me that my boys have seen in quite a while, so be gentle on them.” Anahera shot us a wink, and then turned her attention to making introductions.

  It took some time for us to learn everyone’s names, but they made us feel so welcome that the time flew by. I was relieved to discover that all of them were fluently bilingual, and excited to see new faces. Michael stayed close to me, to help keep me calm with his presence alone. Although I did feel a little uncomfortable at first, Anahera’s brothers were perfect gentlemen. In no time at all, their friendliness and manners put me at ease.

  Skylar seemed to enjoy the attention immensely. While I was content to let Michael do the talking for both of us, she went off on her own, and seemed happy to chatter to anyone that she could find. There was a natural effervescence to her personality that was finally getting the chance to bubble up to the surface; surrounded by so many friendly faces, she was in her element.

  Once introductions were over, we were invited into the tiny fortress for lunch. I discovered to my amusement that the central building of the complex was actually an old yacht club. They had converted it and made it their own, decorating it with intricate carvings cut into the building’s wooden framework. There were monsters and gods, men and women, all poised in the distinctively stylized poses traditional to Maori culture. I was fascinated. Handicrafts had been one of my interests since childhood, and the carvings had a professional look to them that surprised me.

  “This place is amazing,” I whispered to Michael as we were led off to the room they’d converted into a dining hall.

  Despite my attempt to be discreet, Anahera overheard and shot me a smile. “Thank you, dear. I’m glad you approve.”

  I flushed with embarrassment, but there was no sign of sarcasm in her tone. “It is. I mean, these carvings – they’re so detailed. Did you do them?”

  “Me?” She laughed, and the sound of it reassured me. “Oh, if only I had that kind of skill! No, Ropata is our carver.” A stocky man in his early forties looked up from where he had been busy sorting out something lunch-related, but Anahera just gave him a wave and a smile. “He apprenticed as a carpenter in his youth, then went on to learn a variety of other types of woodworking – including whakairo rakau, our traditional carving. It’s possible that he may be the only master carver left alive.”

  “I’m glad that someone survived to keep the art going,” I answered, pausing to admire a particularly elegant carving around the doorway. “It must be handy to have a proper carpenter in your group, too. I can build something simple and functional, but nothing like this. This is beautiful.”

  “It is,” Anahera agreed. She touched my arm to draw my attention away from the carvings, then led us to the long wooden table that filled the centre of the room. Instead of chairs, benches flanked its sides. As the guests of honour, she sat us right in the middle, with Michael and me together on one side, Skylar and herself opposite us.

  Once we were settled, her comrades came in bearing steaming hot food on a mismatched assortment of platters. The smell of it made my mouth water even though most of the scents were unfamiliar to me. When one of the men set a platter near me, I suddenly realised why.

  “Is that fish? Real, fresh fish?” I exclaimed, delighted. I was a poor hunter and even worse at fishing, so it had been years since I’d had any kind of fish except the canned kind. Killing animals for food wasn’t in my nature, but I was perfectly happy to eat things that other people had killed for me. No sense in letting a living thing’s life go to waste.

  “Fresh from our lake. Don’t worry, we make a point of fishing far from any of the contaminated parts
now.” Anahera smiled at us, and then leaned over to point out the different kinds of food as they were brought in. “That’s catfish, and this is eel. That one over there is wild duck…”

  The list went on. My eyes just about popped out of my head at the bounty before us. There was even freshly-baked bread, made with potato in the Maori way. I didn’t care that it wasn’t the kind of bread I’d grown up on. It was bread, and I hadn’t eaten bread in almost a decade.

  I’m not afraid to admit that I gorged myself like a pig, because Michael and Skylar did the same. Our new friends laughed and joked with us, pleased by our enthusiasm for their efforts. For once in my life, I didn’t mind being laughed at. The meal was without a doubt the best one of my adult life. Even when I was so full I thought I might pop, I still found room for just one more slice of delicious rewena bread, just one more piece of kumara, just one more…

  It was never just one more.

  Eventually, my stomach just couldn’t take any more abuse, so I had to stop. With a deep groan of satisfaction, I leaned back on my bench to try and find a position where my tummy didn’t ache quite so much, but every angle hurt.

  The others, including Michael and Skylar, were still busy stuffing their faces with gusto, but I couldn’t possibly eat another nibble. I’d become a bit of a light-weight in the eating game over the years; after spending the better part of a decade on a starvation diet, my stomach had shrunk.

  Eventually, Anahera noticed my uncomfortable condition. She hopped off her bench to help me up, and then escorted me down a corridor to somewhere I could rest. It turned out to be a small, makeshift dormitory, little more than a storage room with a couple of old double mattresses on the ground. I wasn’t too bothered. I’d slept in far worse places over the years. It was clean and dry, and there were fresh linens on the mattresses.

  Anahera helped me to lie down, and then left me to digest in peace. I rolled onto my back and flopped out across the mattress with a groan.