Feral
Killing the Dead: Season Two Book Four
By Richard Murray
Copyright 2017 Richard Murray
All Rights Reserved
All Characters are a work of Fiction.
Any resemblance to real persons
Living or dead is purely coincidental.
Some scenes are based on real locations that
have been altered for the purposes of the story.
Chapter 1 - Ryan
Nestled in a glade amongst the conifers and heather, was a small camp. There wasn’t much to it, just a few brightly coloured tents set up around a fire pit that smouldered gently in the early morning sunlight.
Old bottles and plastic wrapping littered the floor around the edges of the clearing and some enterprising soul had strung lines of string bedecked with empty tin cans from the trees around the campsite. No doubt an attempt to provide some sort of alarm system should the undead wander by.
Obviously, whoever slept soundly in those tents, had never considered that the threat that found them would be fully human, alive and able to bypass their pathetic attempt at protection. I would have pitied them if I hadn’t been enjoying watching what was about to happen.
“We should help them,” Pat said, his voice barely above a whisper. He caught my querying look and shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Now, ordinarily, I would have leapt at the chance to kill some people. Some real, live, people. I mean, it did get kind of dull hacking my way through the endless shambling undead that seemed to be a daily chore since the world fell apart. But still…
“No,” I said as I watched the two scruffy looking men as they tried their best to creep up to the tents. They were dirty and unshaven while their clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed since before the end of the world. Their knives were bright and shiny though, which likely said a lot about their priorities.
“Why not?”
I liked Pat, which was a rarity for me. He was one of the few friends I had ever had in fact and despite our obvious differences, he could usually listen to reason. Lately, though, perhaps it was because of approaching parenthood, he had developed a distinctly irritating need to be even more protective than normal.
“If we save them,” I said quietly without bothering to look his way and see the earnest expression he no doubt wore. “We will have to take them back to the sanctuary with us. Which is more mouths to feed and more of a drain on their resources.”
“No. Better to let these guys kill the people in the tents and then, we, in turn, can kill them and take anything useful they have.”
“You know what she’d say to that,” he replied with a tone of voice that told me exactly what he felt about my reasoning. He also knew that the only way to get me to do as he wanted, was to invoke her.
“That’s hardly fair,” I said and this time I did look his way and caught the wry smile he wore. “It’s not like we’d have to tell her.”
“She’d ask and you’d have to.”
“Life was a lot more fun for me before I met you people, you know that right?”
“I know mate.” The humour in his voice was unmistakable, even to one as limited as I was at recognising such things. I exhaled a soft sigh and slid my combat knife from its sheath on my belt.
“Come on then.”
Without waiting for a reply I set off towards the camp, pushing through the dew-wet undergrowth with slightly less noise than I’d used to make. While still not comfortable with the great outdoors, I was finally starting to master it.
The first of the two attackers was reaching for the zip to a bright orange tent as I reached the edge of the camp. I paused and struck the edge of one of the cans with my knife. It rang hollow and loud as it was knocked against the next one on the line and both men twirled to face me, mouths wide in surprise.
Neither pleasantries nor threats were exchanged as the men both raised their knives and ran straight towards me with a guttural growl coming from deep in their throats. I allowed a smile to form as I noted their gaunt faces and crazed expressions.
I ducked the wild swing of the first and sidestepped to the left away from the second allowing him to barrel right past me, stopping only just before he collided with a tree. The next slash from the first man was also ridiculously easy to avoid and my smile faltered. There would have been more challenge from the Shamblers.
“No fun at all,” I sighed as brushed aside a third attempt to carve my flesh and I sank my own blade into his chest. It wasn’t as precise as I’d have preferred, but still, my weapon pierced his heart and he collapsed with a moan, almost taking my knife with him.
A solid thud came from the direction of the other man, the sound of meat being struck by something heavy and I had no need to turn to see the look of pity on my friends face as he used his medieval mace to crush the other man’s skull.
Such a poor encounter did little to improve the seemingly permanently sour mood I had been enduring of late and I was less than interested in basking in the gratitude of the camp so busied myself with cleaning the blood from my blade as Pat dealt with the questions.
“Er… mate,” Pat said with an odd catch in his voice. I glanced up to see him backing away from the tent with his arms raised above his head. The log dark barrel of a rifle was aimed right at his chest.
Careful, so as not to spook whoever was holding the other end of the rifle, I crossed the campsite towards my friend. Cass would kill me if I let anything happen to him, so I slid my knife back into its sheath and tried to appear unthreatening.
“Who are you?” a woman’s voice called from within the tent.
“The people who just saved your life,” I said without pause. “Certainly, the people who deserve a little more respect than you’re showing.”
“Ryan!” Pat hissed with a sideways glance to me and an edge of panic in his voice. I couldn’t help the grin I flashed his way.
“Perhaps you should leave the tent and offer us a more fitting form of thanks,” I said and waited, patiently as whispered words filtered out to me. The sounds of a furious, yet quiet, argument.
Finally, the tent flap parted and a young man stepped out, barely out of his teens. Unhealthily thin with a swollen jaw and eyes full of pain. He held a hammer in one hand as he held back the thin material of the tent for the other occupant to leave.
She was older, with similar features to the youth and lank, greasy hair that hung around her face. The arms that held the rifle trembled with, I suspected, fatigue brought on by hunger.
“Anyone else?” I asked and she shook her head before I turned to look pointedly at the other tent.
“They’re armed too,” she said and I raised one eyebrow quizzically without replying until she gestured to the other tent. “Our friends in there have guns aimed at you.”
I glanced from her to the tent and back again as I kept my smile fixed in place. The quaver in her voice as she said it, the way she leaned towards the tent as though ready to leap towards it should I try and move that way… well, that told me plenty.
“Put your arms down Pat,” I said and he looked at me, wide-eyed.
“Keep them up!” the woman said.
“I think not.” She looked at me as I said it and I widened my smile to the grin I usually showed only to those I was about to kill. “By all means, shoot him. But as soon as you do I shall cross this space between us and take that rifle from you.”
Her eyes narrowed as she tried to read my expression and I forced my muscles to relax, to appear totally calm and at ease, which wasn’t that hard because I suspected that the rifle wasn’t even loaded.
“Oh, I don’t think she will.” He looked sceptical so I added, “I find it hard to believe that they would have bullets for that rifle, let alone more weapons.”
“We do,” she insisted and I nodded politely.
“Of course you do.”
“Shut up! We do. I’ll show you when I shoot him.”
“My dear lady,” I said in as bored a tone as I could manage. “You look half starved. If you had any ammunition for your weapon you would be using it to hunt since you obviously have no food left here.”
“That’s a good point,” Pat said as he lowered his arms a little. His mace was on the ground by his feet and he eyed it thoughtfully.
“I’ll show you!” she repeated desperately. In the distance a flock of birds took flight loudly, shooting up into the sky, their raucous cries clear in the tense atmosphere that filled the little campsite.
“No need to show us anything,” I said as my gaze met Pats and I nodded towards the fleeing birds. His brow furrowed as he grasped what it meant. “You clearly have nothing worth dying over and we already saved your lives. We have done our good deed and will leave you alone.”
“Ma…” the youth said hesitantly.
“Hush,” she replied. The trembling in her arms was growing stronger and I doubted she’d be able to hold the rifle up for much longer.
“We’ll bid you a good morning and be on our way,” I said as I inclined my head in a slight nod towards her. “Good luck.”
“Shouldn’t we…” Pat began but I waved him off.
“Not our concern.”
“But…”
“Wait!” the woman said. Her malnourished senses were struggling to keep up with what was happening and she didn’t seem to realise that any control she’d had over the situation was gone.
“No need to thank us,” I said as I turned and walked away, ignoring as best I could the itch in the centre of my back that seemed to indicate that I wasn’t quite as sure I believed I was that she had no ammunition.
“Stop!” she cried and I paused and glanced back at her, a question clear on my face. “Please.”
“We should at least warn them,” Pat said. He’d lowered his arms but hadn’t retrieved his weapon and appeared to be watching the two strangers with something close to pity on his face. Or perhaps it was concern. I could never quite tell.
“Warn us about what?” the youth asked.
“They don’t want our help and we have enough mouths to feed,” I reminded him.
“She’d want us to help them.”
“She’s not in charge.”
“No, but your dad is and he’d want you to help them too.”
“His desire to help everyone is why the food stocks are so low even after the losses from that mess a couple of weeks ago,” I retorted. Somewhere in the far distance, I could hear the faintest of moans and I was fairly sure that no one else had noticed. “Which is why we’re out here rather than continuing north.”
“C’mon Ryan. It’s the right thing to do, you know that.”
“She threatened to shoot us!” I snapped. “Literally a couple of minutes ago so you can’t have forgotten. Why should we help?”
“Because it’s right.”
My shoulders slumped as I realised that there was no way of convincing him otherwise and if I left, I’d have to explain to his pregnant partner exactly why I’d left. Then I’d have to explain to Lily and wouldn’t that end just wonderfully badly?
“Oh fine then!”
I turned and stormed back across the camp and grabbed the rifle from the woman’s hand before she could even manage to protest. Her son raised his hammer half-heartedly but one glance his way had him stepping back from what he saw on my face.
Pat reached down to pick up his mace as I turned the rifle over in my hands and inspected it. While not an expert on such weapons, I had a basic understanding. Enough to know that the rifle was a single shot affair and in pretty poor condition. Heavy spotting of rust on the long barrel and the wooden stock was scuffed and wobbled slightly at my touch.
With the rifle cradled in my arms, I pulled back on the bolt and grunted. “It is loaded then,” I said as Pat’s eyes widened.
“What!”
“Ah it’s fine,” I told him. “She didn’t shoot you.”
“Please. Don’t hurt us,” the woman said before Pat could reply and he clamped down on what he’d been about to say though I noted his knuckles whitened where he gripped the handle of his mace.
“We never had any intention of hurting you,” he said. “But you need to gather your stuff now.”
“Why?” she asked with a fearful look towards her son.
“There’s something coming through the woods,” I said as I held out the rifle to her. She looked at me in surprise as I gestured for her impatiently to take it. “Go on, it won’t bite.”
“You’re giving it back?”
“Well I don’t want it,” I said. “Now, I suspect that whatever’s headed our way is undead and hungry for flesh… so you might want to get a move on.”
She took the rifle hesitantly and looked at the two of us for several seconds before coming to a decision. “Get our gear,” she told her son before raising her voice a little. “You can come out.”
Movement came from the yellow tent behind us as someone unzipped the opening from the inside. A frightened face looked out for a moment before disappearing back inside and I held back the sigh as I pulled free my knife.
“Get them ready while I go and check out what’s headed our way,” I said as I strode past Pat with a shake of my head. “The geriatrics in the yellow tent might need some help.”
He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed as I left the camp. He’d wanted to help them and as a result, we’d be taking a half-starved mother and son back to the sanctuary along with what looked to be a couple of people well into their seventies.
We’d left looking for food and supplies and instead were increasing the number of useless people who’d need feeding. The way our luck seemed to be going, when I found the undead it’d likely be a whole bloody horde of Ferals.
Chapter 2 - Lily
My first circuit around the courtyard of the castle was slow going but at least fairly pain-free. Not quite fully pain-free, but almost. If I moved too quickly or tried anything above a slow walk, then I’d pull at the wound in my stomach and get the first stab of pain. So I kept it slow.
With Cass’s arm linked through mine, we looked just like a couple of friends taking a midday walk. The sort of thing you’d have seen all the time back when the world wasn’t so broken. At times, as we walked, I could almost forget the hell we now lived in. Then I’d turn and see the stained paving slabs of the courtyard floor and remember all those who had died such a short time ago.
“You look as miserable as I feel,” Cass said as she caught me staring once more at the slick stones before the gate. No matter how many times they scrubbed at those stones, the stains weren’t coming out.
“Just thinking,” I told her with a piss poor attempt at a smile that I let fade away.
“Seems unreal still,” she replied with a slow nod.
“We survived, we need to focus on that.”
“Did we though?”
“What do you mean?” I asked and then stopped. She didn’t need to answer, not really.
“Thirty-four people died here,” she said as we came to a stop before the twin watchtowers set on either side of the front gate. “Hundreds of the undead and thirty-four good people.”
“How is Gregg doing?” The first gay man we’d met since all this began had been one of the three infected during the fight. None of them had borne the immunity that Cass had.
“He’s quiet. Keeps to himself most of the time and barely speaks.” She paused and wiped at her eyes with the ba
ck of her hand. “I know he’s not eating. I’m really worried.”
“You want me to try and talk to him?”
“No. I don’t think he’ll listen to anyone at the moment. I’ve tried and so did Pat, but… nothing. He just sits up the tower and stares into the distance.”
My gaze went to the towers beside us and I let out a deep sigh. I’d known he’d taken it hard but hadn’t realised it was that bad. Another worry to add to my ever-growing list of things I couldn’t do anything about.
“Charlie’s up there with him now,” Cass continued. “Reece was her friend. Hell, they spent a lot of time together before Ryan and Gregg found them so it’s understandable that she’s taking it badly too.”
I wanted to offer words of comfort or advice but I had nothing. To be honest, in the almost two weeks since the horde of Shamblers, led by the Ferals, had attacked us, I’d been almost numb to everything. Nor was I the only one.
Ryan’s dad had taken it badly. He’d stayed aloof from the fighting with most of his people until the very end. A firm adherent to non-violence, as were the majority of his group, he was ready to die surrounded by his loved ones as he led them in prayer. I didn’t know what had made him finally rally his people but without them, we’d surely have lost the day.
As it was, we’d still lost entirely too many anyway and by surviving, he was stuck with a rather large amount of guilt for his inaction. Added to that was his utter disgust with himself for resorting to violence in the end. That shouldn’t amuse me as much as it did, but he was so like Ryan in some ways and in others, utterly different.
“Oh crap!”
“What?” I asked as I came back to reality.
“Gabe’s coming this way.”
I followed her gaze and exhaled another sigh. He moved across the courtyard with the purposeful walk of the man who had important things to do and places to be. His eyes fixed on us, he didn’t deviate or move around any of the people working in the courtyard but expected them to move from his path instead.
With his dad lost in a spiral of guilt and shame for both his actions and inactions, Gabe had been trying to step up to be the leader of the survivors. Something that I’d found he was not quite suited for.
Killing the Dead (Book 10): Feral Page 1