Sam Finch and the Zombie Hybrid (Sam Finch Series Book 1)

by Bouchard, J. W.

  As another village disappeared behind him, Sam could see rolling green hills for miles and miles. From what he had read in books, once the rolling hills gave way to dense forest, it would mean they were within an hour of Dashelmore.

  After another hour, the forest appeared. Gigantic trees with orange, yellow, and green leaves hugged the road, forming a thick canopy that blocked out most of the sunlight. Sam felt the knot tighten in his stomach again. They were getting close now.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Sam asked.

  Edric shook his head. “Nah. We’ll be headin’ back right way. The longer work gets put off, the more work there is to do.”

  “What about sleep?”

  “Your father and I will take turns,” Mary said. “I can sleep for a while, and then I can take over. If push comes to shove, we can always pull over and set up camp somewhere.”

  “But it isn’t safe to travel at night. You’ve told me that a million times.”

  Edric looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry about yer mother and me. We can take care of ourselves.”

  Sam sighed heavily. Apparently, there was nothing he could do to convince them to spend the night, which meant he would be on his own in a strange land sooner rather than later.

  The forest seemed to close in on them the farther in they rode. If Sam had extended his arm and reached out with his hand, he could have plucked leaves from the branches. He had the eerie feeling that someone or something was watching them.

  His mother must have been feeling the same way because the whole of her concentration appeared to be focused on the forest, as though she was searching for something hidden among the densely packed trees. She bent down and picked up a wicker basket sitting at her feet and placed it in her lap. “Anyone else hungry?” she asked, her eyes darting back to the forest briefly.

  “I could eat,” Sam said.

  Mary opened the basket, pulling out several premade sandwiches which consisted of bread, lettuce and thinly-sliced pork. She handed one to Sam, who accepted it gratefully.

  “You can wash it down with this,” she said, giving him a small jug of what she had aptly named “flavored water.” It was one of his mother’s own creations. She would fill a pail with water and then slice up strawberries, pears, and apples, and then throw them in the pail of water. Occasionally, depending on her mood, she would sprinkle in a few blueberries or raspberries for good measure. Then the pail of water and fruits would be left to sit overnight until the concoction was ready for consumption the next day. To Sam, his mother’s flavored water had always been hit or miss. If she got the mixture right, drinking it was as enjoyable as a cool breeze on a sweltering day. When she got it wrong, it would either turn out too sour or too bitter, making it nearly undrinkable.

  Sam drank from the jug. It was awful. It was all he could do not to gag. But his mother was watching him, so he did his best to smile and appear as though he liked it.

  “So?”

  “It’s a winner!” Sam said with feigned enthusiasm.

  His father, who was a sight better at reading people than he let on, chuckled to himself.

  Sam took another sip from the jug to convince his mother he was being truthful, and then handed it back to her.

  A little while later, the forest opened up, and then Sam saw it: Dashelmore Castle. It’s enormity and beauty left Sam speechless. A massive structure of moss-covered stone; turrets and towers and spires. Some of the spires were so high that they disappeared into the clouds. Blue and silver banners (King Leodan’s colors) flapped back-and-forth in the wind.

  Sam heard his mother’s audible intake of breath.

  “Bigger than I remember,” Edric said.

  “You’ve been there before?”

  “Aye. Years ago, when I was younger. They hold trade shows in the village. Brought some odds and ends to sell. Good time to buy materials, too.”

  His father had never told him that he had been to Dashelmore before. Must have been before I was born or when I was too little to remember, he thought.

  When they were closer, Sam noticed that the layout matched the drawings he had seen in books. Dashelmore had been designed in the shape of a huge circle. The castle sat at the center, protected by a high stone wall and a wide moat. The sprawling village, filled with more shops, bars, and cottages than Sam had ever seen, surrounded it to form an additional barrier of protection.

  It was slow going as they approached the castle. His father had to stop numerous times to allow people to cross the road as they hurried from shop to shop. But now that they had arrived, Sam discovered he wasn’t in any hurry. Now it was all becoming real. In a few short minutes, his parents would drop him off at the castle entrance, and he would have to watch them leave.

  They passed many interesting shops. If Sam hadn’t been distracted by his own grief, he would have been making mental notes to himself to visit them later.

  Finally, the moment came. His father brought the horses to a halt several yards away from the large iron gate, which stood at least as high as five men standing upright on each others’ shoulders. When Sam jumped from his seat to the ground, his legs were wobbly. His father grabbed his things from the wagon. His mother had tears in her eyes. Sam wanted to cry, too, but he used every ounce of will power he had to stop the tears from coming.

  “I guess this is it,” Edric said, handing Sam his sack of books. He extended his hand and Sam shook it. “Good luck. And be sure to write yer mother.”

  “I w-will.”

  Mary hugged him, squeezing him tightly. She was crying profusely. Sam discovered that it wasn’t his mother’s crying that brought him close to tears; it was shaking his father’s hand that stung the worst. A hand shake and “good luck” were more emotion than he had seen from his father in a quite a long time. But he bit the tears back, knowing his father would expect that, not to mention the two sentries guarding the castle entrance might find it humorous to see a fifteen-year-old warrior-to-be crying.

  “I’ll miss you so much,” Mary said. “Write to me. Daily. I’m sure you’ll be able to come home and visit for the holidays.”

  “I will, Mom.”

  Sam just wanted it over with. If it went on much longer, he would be helpless from holding the floodgates closed.

  As though sensing his son’s predicament, Edric said, “C’mon, Mary, let him get in and get settled. We’ve a long trip back.”

  His mother gave him a final squeeze and then detached herself. Edric took her hand and helped her up into the seat at the front of the wagon. She dabbed at her tears with a white silk cloth.

  Sam watched as his father wheeled the wagon around, and continued to stand there until his parents were a speck in the distance. He felt on the verge of collapse; his mind told him to forget warrior training and go running after them. If he ran fast enough, he could catch up with the wagon, and they could all return home together.

  But instead, Sam grabbed the side handle of his trunk and turned to face the guards. He had taken several steps toward them, when one said, “State your business.”

  Sam mustered all of his courage and said, “I am here to attend the Dashelmore Warrior Training Academy.”

  “Papers,” the other guard said, holding his hand out.

  Sam dug in his pocket, pulled out his acceptance papers, and gave them to the guard.

  The guard glanced at the papers and then gave Sam the once over and nodded. Both stepped aside, and as if by magic, the gates opened.

  As he passed through the entrance, sack of books draped over one shoulder, and dragging his trunk behind him, one of the guards said, “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said. And to himself he thought: I think I’ll be needing it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SECONDHAND SWORD

  Sam was shown to his living quarters by a gnarled old man wearing ragged clothes and carrying a long, twisted walking stick. “The name’s Abeth Lee,” the old man said, hobblin
g forward slowly. “My job’s to see that you get what you need. Within reason, that is. We ‘ave a chain of command here and I’m the starting link. Come to me first. If I can’t help ya – which just about never happens – we can figure it out from there. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “See that you do. Chain of command. Come to me first. Bypassing me carries a stiff penalty.”

  “I’ve got it.” Sam wondered if this was what his father had meant by not letting anyone push him around. Was this the situation he was talking about? Sam wasn’t sure, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t think talking back would be wise seeing as how he had only been inside Dashelmore for five minutes, even if old Abeth Lee was the lowest link in the chain of command.

  On their way to the living quarters, Sam saw all manner of creatures: horses, camels, chickens, and a tall wire cage housing a number of falcons. In a far corner, he saw a corral with a netted ceiling hanging over the top of it. Through the net, Sam could see large lizard-like creatures with leathery wings like those of a common bat. Their forked tongues slithered in and out of their mouths, reminding him of a snake’s tongue.

  Wyverns, he thought. He had seen drawings of them, but had never seen one in real life. In fact, he hadn’t known if they really existed or not.

  Abeth glanced over his shoulder and caught Sam staring at them. “Don’t look directly into their eyes. They take it as a sign of aggression. Swift beasts if you ever have the opportunity to ride one, but extremely vicious. Had a boy lose an arm last year. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.”

  Sam stopped watching the wyverns immediately, casting his eyes to the ground and staring at his feet. What would it be like to ride one? They were like miniature dragons. He absently wondered if they could breathe fire like real dragons.

  “Here we are,” Abeth said, coming to a halt outside a wooden building with a thatched roof. “This is where you’ll be staying.”

  Abeth pushed open the door and stepped inside. The interior was clean but sparse; rows of narrow beds lined either side of the room. Some already had bags or trunks or clothes piled on top of them.

  “If there isn’t anything on one of them, then that means it’s free. Find yourself one and get settled in. Breakfast is at sunrise. After that, Alsted will want to have a word with all of you.”

  “Alsted?”

  “Head instructor. Awkward-looking fellow, but I wouldn’t dare cross him.”

  With that, Abeth exited the building, leaving Sam to stand there by himself. After a moment, he made his way down the aisle, looking for a bed that wasn’t taken.

  “This one’s empty,” a voice said.

  A boy several inches taller than Sam with short brown hair was standing next to a bed, organizing his belongings.

  “The one next to mine,” the boy said. “No one’s taken it yet.”

  Sam walked over to the empty bed and heaved his trunk onto it. “Thanks. Where’s everybody else?”

  The boy shrugged. “Don’t know. That old guy didn’t tell me anything.” The boy offered his hand. “Meeks. Curtis Meeks.”

  Sam took it. Curtis’s hand was damp with sweat, and Sam realized then that Curtis Meeks was even more nervous than he was. “Sam Finch.”

  “Good to meet you, Sam Finch. Know anyone else in our class?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “Maybe if you wanna…we could be, uh, well…friends?” Curtis said, now unable to meet Sam’s eyes. He busied himself with reorganizing his clothes on the bed into neatly folded piles. “Or partners at least. I don’t know anyone either, and it would be nice to have someone to pair up with for dueling and such.”

  Sam was overcome by a sudden wave of relief. Within ten minutes of entering Dashelmore, it seemed as though he had not only met someone who was even more afraid to be there than he was, but had perhaps also made his first friend. “Definitely,” Sam said. “I could use all the friends I can get.”

  “You’re tellin’ me! Where are you from?”

  “Lesser Spriggleford.”

  “Isn’t that where they have the glowing butterflies every year?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see that.”

  “You?”

  “Ashenville.”

  “Never heard of it,” Sam said.

  “Don’t imagine you would have. It’s east of here. Small and not famous for anything. Not even glowing insects.”

  “It’s not really that special,” Sam said.

  “But check out what I picked up in the village,” Curtis said, unfolding a long blanket he had laid out on the bed. “Beats anything I could have found in Ashenville.” He slid something from under the blanket, and the next moment he was wielding a shortsword. It looked brand new; Sam could see his reflection in the highly polished blade. Curtis tried to twirl the sword in his hand, but was clumsy about it, and almost dropped it. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

  Sam was still staring, but he wasn’t thinking about Curtis’s sword at all. He was thinking about his own sword; or, more specifically, his lack of one. He remembered handing his father the little black case that housed the enchanting stones, and how he had asked his father if he would fashion him a sword from scratch, incorporating the three gems. His father had opened the case, examined the gems, and muttered something about finding the time. And that was the last they had discussed it. It had been the furthest thing from his mind when his mother had riled him out of sleep early that morning. She had made him hustle, giving him no time to think about anything he might be forgetting.

  And here he was, swordless.

  “What’s the matter?” Curtis asked. “Is yours nicer or something?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “What?”

  “My dad was supposed to make me one – he’s a blacksmith – but…I guess he never got around to it. So I don’t have one. First day here, and I don’t have a sword!”

  “I’m sure it won’t be a big deal.” But the look on his face said he thought differently.

  “I’m doomed!”

  The brief sense of hope Sam had had only moments ago melted away into nothingness. What was he going to do? Would they just kick him out?

  “What am I going to do? I can’t train without one.”

  Curtis was still holding his shortsword, still hypnotized by the shiny blade. He hurriedly placed it back on the bed and covered it with the blanket as though he felt guilty at having one while Sam did not.

  Sam pounded the top of his trunk with his fist. He didn’t feel homesick any longer; there wasn’t any time for that. What he needed to do now was think. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. He was angry with his father, but he was most angry with himself. “I’m royally screwed, aren’t I?” he said.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Easy for you to say. You have a sword.”

  The look of guilt returned to Curtis’s face. “Well, what if I gave you mine?”

  Sam stared at him. Here was a boy who was so desperate to make a friend, he was willing to give up his own sword to keep Sam from getting into hot water. Sam’s gaze softened. He was ashamed of himself. After all, it wasn’t Curtis’s fault. Sam had only himself to blame.

  He would do it too, Sam thought. Give me his sword and face the consequences on his own.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my own fault. I won’t take your sword. Then you’d be the one in trouble. I’ll just have to face the music.”

  Curtis’s eyes lit up. “Or maybe not. How much money do you got?”

  “Almost four gold. Why?”

  Curtis seemed to ponder something before saying, “That might be enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “I was just thinking, what if we go down into the village? It isn’t that late yet, and most of the shops would still be open. We could do some last minute sword shopping. Could go to the same place where I got mine.”

  “Yeah, but you said yourself, your sw
ord cost ten gold. I don’t even have half that.”

  “They’re bound to have something cheaper. Maybe not as good as mine, but something that would at least get you by until you could afford something better. Be better than nothin’, wouldn’t it?”

  Sam couldn’t argue with that logic. He made sure he had his pouch of coins and said, “All right, it’s worth a shot.”

  “We better hurry,” Curtis said. “We’ll want to get back before lights out.”

  “When is that?”

  “No idea.”

  Curtis led them out of the living quarters and toward the village. The sun had already dipped down so that its bottom half touched the horizon. Curtis said, “This is going to be so much fun!”

  It was a long walk. Once they had reached the village, Curtis had trouble remembering exactly where the weapon shop he had purchased his own sword at was located. “I know it was right around here somewhere,” he said. He pointed to a tent where an older husband and wife team were selling fancy plate and dish sets. “I remember seeing that store.”

  As Sam followed Curtis, many of the shops caught his attention. There were shops peddling anything and everything he could imagine: food and drink, potions and elixirs, clothes (some of them came pre-enchanted), house pets, spellbooks, blacksmith supplies. It put the shops in Lesser Spriggleford to shame.

  But they were on a mission. Sam fought his curiosity, following closely behind Curtis.

  “Ah ha!” Curtis shouted. “Knew it was around here. There it is, right there.”

  The shop was called Surly Dragon Arms, and the painting on the wooden sign that swung lazily overhead was of a rather comical-looking dragon with smoke coiling up out of its nostrils. An advertisement below the sign read: BEST DEALS IN TOWN! And below that, in smaller writing: Enchantments extra.

  The inside of Surly Dragon Arms was easily five times as large as the weapon and armory shop in Lesser Spriggleford. There were standing floor racks that swiveled three hundred sixty degrees, showcasing a variety of spears. Swords, axes, maces, bows, and shields decorated nearly every inch of wall space. Sam had never seen so many weapons in one place before.