Brooke’s eyebrows rose when John rolled off the “L” word without hesitation.
“But, then again, I guess that was kind of true in the old world, too, and people still made the choice. And I guess I’m kind of hoping you’re wanting to make that same choice.”
Without thinking, Brooke found herself smiling and nodding at John. She wasn’t able to come up with the right words until John leaned in for a kiss.
“Ok, yes, but you have got to clean off a little better,” Brooke said with one hand against John’s chest. “You kind of reek.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Moto was tempted to be jealous of John when he awoke to see that he’d fallen asleep cuddling Brooke away from the shelter. He chose instead to be happy for the two, as he could easily admit that they made a much better couple than he and Brooke ever would’ve. Moto decided to quietly prepare some of the little remaining food for himself and Hillary as the rest of the group remained sleeping peacefully. Even once they’d finished eating breakfast, they were still the only ones awake. In order to allow the others to sleep while also keeping Hillary entertained, Moto decided to take Hillary and Timber to go exploring, while also searching for any sort of food that he could find. Once he’d established that Hillary had to keep Timber on their make-shift leash at all times and that she had to stay just beside him no matter what, Moto led Hillary down a new trail.
Moto kept an eye out for tracks, whether human or otherwise, but found none. They walked on until the sun had climbed high into the sky and Hillary’s legs had fatigued to the point that Moto was forced to carry her. Despite his best efforts, Moto found nothing to show for his time.
“Let’s rest for a bit at that creek up ahead,” Moto said, growing tired from carrying the young girl. “Timber could use some water. If we don’t spot any other animals coming down for a drink after a while, I guess we’ll just head back.”
“But we haven’t found any food,” Hillary said. “Don’t we need to find some?”
“It would be nice, but I think I’m burning more calories carrying you around than I’d find if I stayed out here all day. I might try again tomorrow without Timber. His scent might be scaring the deer off.”
Instead of wagging his tail at the sound of his name as he usually did, Timber began to growl ferociously, with the hackles on his back standing on end.
“What is it boy?” Hillary asked as Moto set her down. “Is it a deer?”
Timber unexpectedly yanked hard against the leash and snapped the tethering twine. Ignoring the shouts from Moto and Hillary, Timber tore off into the woods across the creek.
“So much for my break,” Moto sighed, picking up Hillary and his rifle.
Fortunately for Moto, he didn’t have to run far before he came upon Timber in a clearing. Timber was holding his ground, snarling at three sickly looking dogs that had lost much of their hair. In another setting, Moto thought, the dogs could’ve been mistaken for the fabled Chupacabra. Their stomachs were sunken and every rib and muscle jutted against the graying, scabby flesh to such a degree that it appeared the skin might rip. Moto wasn’t sure if the diseased-looking dogs just had mange or rabies or if the zombie virus could, in fact, transfer to canines. Moto’s calls to Timber were futile, and he watched helplessly as the decrepit mongrels began to slowly surround the outmatched dog.
Moto took a brief moment to process his only two options. At first, he felt that the responsible decision would be to take Hillary and run, abandoning Timber. As hard of a decision as it was, the only thing giving Moto further pause was the knowledge that fleeing wouldn’t guarantee that the pack couldn’t easily run him down after they’d pulled Timber to pieces. Without further time to plan or process, Moto acted. He first passed Hillary up onto the lowest branch of a tree, safely out of reach of the animals, and then took aim at the most aggressive of the three dogs. Moto steadied his aim and let out a slow, steady breath. Just before he’d let the bullet fly toward the alpha dog’s ribcage, though, Moto thought better and adjusted his aim to the animal’s head. Praying that the other two dogs would flee, Moto pulled the trigger. For a moment it seemed as though the plan had worked to perfection. The lead dog dropped instantly to the ground, and the two remaining dogs cowered back. Moto whistled to Timber but was answered instead by a moaning zombie as it stumbled out from the trees several paces behind him. Ignoring Hillary’s screams as the thing approached her tree, Moto spun around and dropped the zombie with one shot to the head. The two diseased dogs then ran past him and began tearing at the flesh of the zombie, dragging its lifeless body even closer to the tree where Hillary sat.
Moto did his best to block out the distractions of the crying, barking, and tearing of flesh as he took aim at another of the dogs but then paused at the sound of another zombie’s groan. One groan turned into two, and then three. Moto froze in place as the groans and shuffling footsteps around him multiplied into a chorus of the undead. He turned to see that a growing horde of zombies was approaching from just beyond the clearing. Moto estimated that he would have plenty of time to dispose of the two remaining dogs, retrieve Hillary, and jog to a safe distance from the staggering horde. However, to his horror, Hillary lost her balance on the narrow branch and fell to the ground just feet from the hungry dogs. Moto watched in dismay as the worst possible scenario played out before him in slow motion. Adrenaline coursed through Moto’s veins as one of the dogs looked up from its meal and began to creep toward the hysterical little girl. Even before Moto had begun to raise his rifle, Timber was already sliding to a stop between the dogs and Hillary, snarling and baring his teeth to hold the two dogs at bay.
Moto pointed the rifle and wounded the dog nearest Hillary with a hurried shot as he began to run toward her. Slowing only slightly, Moto tried to anticipate the bouncing of his crosshair and fired off another shot in the direction of the second dog. Missing badly, Moto forced himself to slow to a walk and was able to strike the dog just above its hind leg. Though neither shot was fatal, both dogs were severely hobbled, and Moto took off in a full-on sprint for Hillary.
Unsure what else to do, Moto left Timber to fend for himself as he scooped up Hillary and continued his sprint into the wooded area away from the approaching horde. After only a few steps, though, Moto slid down hard onto his rear after seeing several more zombies just ahead of him. The fall wouldn’t have been serious but for Moto’s efforts to keep Hillary from injury. Moto’s focus was solely on protecting Hillary, and he landed hard along the edge of the path. He fought to make his way back onto his feet but felt the familiar twinge of throbbing pain in his wrist due to a severe sprain. Before he was able to stand, a zombie thrust itself upon him so quickly that Moto couldn’t lift the rifle up between them. Moto fell to his back and tucked one knee up against the zombie’s chest, pushing with the butt of the rifle to keep the ghoul’s infectious teeth out of reach. Blood and ichor dripped onto Moto from the thing’s gaping maw, and the incredible stench of death overcame him.
Out of nowhere, the zombie was tackled away in a blur of motion and rolled down a steep embankment next to the trail. Moto looked down the hill to see that it was Timber that had miraculously attacked the zombie with enough momentum to force the thing off of him and Hillary.
Completely exhausted, Moto forced himself to keep moving forward. He stood to see that he was still cornered by zombies approaching from both sides, now only a few paces away. Moto raised the rifle with his one injured arm as he clung to Hillary with the other and fired wildly at the nearest of the undead, striking it in the chest. The pain from raising the gun was blinding, but the pain that came after the rifle had recoiled was too much, and Moto dropped the gun.
Every semblance of a path was completely blocked, and more zombies appeared out of the brush with every passing second. Without using the injured hand, Moto wrapped both arms tightly around Hillary, and Hillary clung snugly against Moto’s torso like a young monkey to its mother. Tucking his chin to his chest, Moto covered Hillary
as best as he could, pointed his body straight into the thick forest’s bushes and thorns, and let gravity guide him down the steep hill. On the first step, Moto felt a hard pull against his back leg just as he was pushing off to run and caused him to tumble out of control.
When they’d finally come to rest, Moto checked that no zombies were near them and began to inspect Hillary for injuries. Finding only a few superficial wounds, Moto fought to stand and realized that he’d now also injured his ankle. Pulling at his pants leg, Moto realized that he hadn’t just pulled a muscle or sprained another joint. The bottom of his pants were completely saturated with blood. Praying that he would find that a sharp stick or thorn had stuck him, Moto pulled at his sock to find what he thought to be the teeth marks from a dog’s bite. Having already endured the possibility of infection several times before, Moto forced himself to stay calm until he’d returned Hillary to safety. Even if one of the dogs had bitten him, that wasn’t necessarily a death sentence. Brooke herself had been bitten by one that had likely fed on a zombie’s corpse, and she’d shown no symptoms of contracting the virus. Relieved that he was still able to walk, Moto lifted Hillary once again and set off in what he thought was the right direction.
It didn’t take long before Moto had found a path, but the way seemed like more of a game trail for deer than one of the paths John had been using to navigate near the shelter. Moto chose a direction and began walking a short distance until he heard the growls of another dog. Moto stopped, hoping that the dog had not already sensed his and Hillary’s presence, and tried as best he could to keep Hillary from crying. Moto crouched down and grabbed the sharpest stick within his reach, waiting silently. Just then, an unexpected gunshot echoed through the hills, and the growling ceased immediately. Moto’s initial relief that the threat had been eliminated was quickly replaced with the fear of knowing that someone with a gun was very near. His thoughts went back to the lone man that had been shot after wandering into their camp. Moto froze at the sound of rustling leaves just around the curve in the trail. Something large was near.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Timber rounded the turn and sprinted up to Hillary, licking her face incessantly.
“It’s Timber!” Hillary cried gleefully.
“Stay quiet, sweetie,” Moto whispered. “There’s still someone out here that we need to hide from.”
After a few moments of silence, Moto could barely make out the sound of footsteps up above them on the ridge. He could also hear the voices of more than one person, though he couldn’t make out their dialogue until they were almost upon him.
“No, I’m positive, that was Timber!” a familiar voice whispered loudly.
Moto paused long enough to be absolutely sure who the voice belonged to before he called out, “John, is that you?”
“Moto? Oh, thank God,” John answered.
“Do you have Hillary?” Brooke yelled out.
“Yeah, we’re ok!” Moto said, standing to see the others making their way down the hill. “That was you that shot, right?
“Yeah, Timber was standing off against some stray dog,” John said, giving Moto and Hillary a stronger than usual hug. “I was worried my shot had scared him off.”
Brooke jogged up and pulled Hillary out of Moto’s arms, rocking her back and forth with an extended hug, kissing at her cheeks. “I was so scared we weren’t going to find you two! Where have you been?”
As they all walked, Moto caught them up on all of the excitement that had taken place during their eventful day. He decided to wait until Brooke and Hillary were out of earshot before disclosing the bite he’d suffered. John reassured him of all the things Moto had already been telling himself, but the words did little to give Moto optimism.
Sprite had stayed behind at the camp in case Moto and Hillary should return before John and Brooke. John hadn’t really begun to worry that morning about the length of time the two had been gone, despite Brooke’s constant intuitive warnings. That is, until he heard the gunshots.
“At that point,” John said, “none of us could do anything else until we’d found you. I might have been a little nervous that you’d been gone so long but saw that you’d taken the gun and figured you could handle yourself. After we heard more than one gunshot, though, I knew you weren’t just hunting. We all freaked out just a little bit.”
“Oh, poor Sprite,” Brooke thought aloud. “We need to get back and let him know you’re both ok.”
Moto did his best to stick to the back of the line in order to conceal his blood-soaked pants from the girls as they all made their way back up to the trail. They all walked together in high spirits, with Moto struggling to keep up in the rear. He tried not to focus on his dilemma, but the sharp pain in his leg was a constant reminder to Moto that he might no longer be in control of his own destiny. He’d occasionally laugh with the others ahead of him, but Moto mostly ran the events of the day back through his mind, wondering if there was anything else he could’ve done. A way into their walk, Moto recalled a brief prayer that he’d offered if God would just preserve Hillary after she’d fallen from the tree. Moto forced himself to refocus and to thank God that Hillary was indeed protected but also selfishly added another request for his own survival. When he lifted his eyes to the heavens, though, Moto took a second to process an unexpected sight.
“Is that smoke coming from our place?” Moto pointed.
Above the trees, a huge plume of black smoke was rising up from not too far down the trail, just where their encampment should’ve been.
“Wait here,” John instructed. “Let me go check on it.”
The other three waited where they stood, brainstorming what explanation there might be. Moto wouldn’t bring himself to mention it, but he became more and more concerned that the other members of the dead man’s group had finally found those responsible for his death. Hillary smiled and played with Timber in blissful ignorance of the events unfolding around her while Moto and Brooke whispered and feared the worst. After what seemed like hours, John came jogging back down the trail. He was covered in sweat, and his eyes were opened wide.
“We’ve gotta go,” John instructed.
“Go where?” Brooke asked. “What about our food?”
“What’d you see?” Moto talked over her.
“It’s all gone,” John answered in a stern whisper so that Hillary couldn’t hear.
“It’s all gone, and there are zombies everywhere.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
With only a rifle and the ragged clothes on their backs, the group found themselves scrambling into an unexplored section of forest. Moto silently mouthed a question to John as to Sprite’s fate, but John’s response was only an ignorant shrug. Each time they assumed they’d traveled far enough to achieve some sort of sanctuary, more evidence would arise indicating that they had not yet escaped the increasingly present threat of zombies. Sometimes a snarl from some unseen source served as their warning to keep moving--other times it came in the form of the barely audible shuffling of feet. After enough instances, just a slight showing of aggression from Timber was heeded as enough of an indicator that they weren’t safe. Their aimless hiking along the path of least resistance continued on until the sun began to threaten concealment of its life-giving light.
“Ok, really quick pow wow,” Moto gasped as he halted their ever-slowing pace. “Pee, or rest, or whatever you’ve gotta do.”
John observed Timber who walked in a tight circle before plopping down with a heavy exhale.
“We’re not going to have the time to build any kind of shelter or perimeter for the night,” Moto said softly.
“Hell, we don’t even have the tools,” John grumbled. “We’ve got to find something, and soon.”
“Should we just climb up in some trees to get away from ‘em?” Moto thought aloud, while looking up. “That seems like it could work for one night.”
“What happens when we get surrounded?” John asked. “I don’t have near enough bull
ets. We’d be screwed.”
“I don’t know, we could grind off some sharp branches and stab down at their heads until they’re all dead,” Moto offered, nodding at his own idea.
“I’d just be so paranoid that someone would start dozing off and fall,” John said, looking over his shoulder at Hillary. “Wait, where did Timber run off to?”
“He probably just went off with Brooke; I saw her walk off that way,” Moto pointed without concern.
A moment later, Moto and John halted their planning when Brooke returned with no knowledge of Timber’s whereabouts. Hillary began to call loudly for him, but John shushed the girl, still aware that zombies were likely not far off.
“I see a few paw prints over here,” Brooke pointed and began tracking the dog’s steps. Occasionally, the fallen leaves of the season would make the trail next to impossible to find, but the dog’s path predictably continued straight down the gentle slope.
“Wait, do you hear that?” John asked after several minutes of tracking. “Flowing water! Thank God.”
They all continued directly toward the sound of rushing water, occasionally spotting evidence of Timber’s path. Finally, Moto made out the sunset’s pink reflection from through the trees. Lying in a shallow section of the cool, flowing water, Timber appeared to be smiling.
“Come on sweetie; let’s get a drink of water,” Brooke led Hillary. “We don’t know when we’ll come across more, so drink a whole lot.”
“You think it’s safe?” Moto asked John, shuddering slightly in the cool, evening air.
“Safe to drink? Probably. It’s cool, clear, and flowing,” John said. “But I think it might be even safer than that.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” Moto asked, looking up after several large gulps.
“Look over there,” John pointed to a moderate island in the middle of the deep creek. “It’s big enough for us to all sleep on.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s brilliant,” Moto nodded. “The zombies aren’t coordinated enough to wade through the current without be swept downstream.”
And the Blood Ran Black Page 22