by Maira Dawn
“Skye and the boy will be fine. But when they come to an understanding on the details, I reckon I’d like you to come along too, Wade.”
“Ya know I will, bro.”
Dylan nodded. A little more muscle never hurt.
Wade threw him a questioning look. “If it’s not that, what’s got you troubled, brother?”
Dylan shrugged, hoping that would satisfy him, but his brother just raised his eyebrow higher.
Dylan continued through the forest as he explained. “Before it was just us, takin’ care of ourselves. You, me, and this forest.” He gestured toward the trees. “Like today.”
“Somehow, we’ve become something to people,” Dylan said as he glanced at Wade. “Something way more than anyone believed us capable of before the world fell. I thought—I always thought that was something I wanted. Now, I’m not sure what I think. It’s a lot.”
Dylan ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s one thing gettin’ a woman and a boy. It’s another to get a whole village.”
The men stopped. Wade held his tongue until Dylan had his say. For a moment, they listened to the wind rustle through the trees. Somewhere to their right, small claws scrabbled up tree bark. Probably a squirrel or chipmunk on its way home with dinner, just like them.
Dylan kicked at some green moss clinging to the tip of a rock poking out of the ground. “Everywhere I turn, someone needs something. Advice, lessons, help of some kind or another. I give it willingly. But I think, do those townspeople remember that I’m the guy they used to side-eye and make snide remarks about?”
“D, what did you think would happen when you gave the invite for them to come on up here?”
“I reckon I thought they’d look to Tom.”
“Tom don’t know squat about how to live on this mountain. He’s lived in town his whole life.”
“I know. I just—I just never asked to be one of their leaders. Sometimes, I wonder how long their gonna stay all fired up about us until they reckon they don’t need me—us, anymore.”
Wade vigorously shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen. They renamed the mountain, bro. After us. Tom said because when everything else was in ruins, and no one knew what to do, we were there, helpin’ out on the mountain and in town. The townsfolk started calling it that, and it stuck.”
Wade poked Dylan’s arm. “Tom said it’s fitting cause the town was named after our forefathers. They gathered people together and made a town. Now, we’re doin’ the same thing.”
“I know,” Dylan said as he rubbed his arm. “And I gotta say it means a lot that we’ve somehow restored the family name to the good standing it once had.”
Wade waved Dylan on. “Don’t worry. We got this.”
Dylan nodded and pushed through a bit of brush, then stopped. Something seemed out of place.
“Hsst,” Dylan said to get his brother’s attention. Wade glanced back and stopped.
With the men quiet, the wildlife came alive. One, then two, birds twittered in the trees around them, a chipmunk scurried, a squirrel chattered. None of that was what Dylan waited to hear.
He scanned the forest. There it was. The long, low moo of cattle. The men exchanged a glance and changed direction, heading toward the sound.
The forest gave way to a small opening where eleven cows laid or stood. Those lying chewed in contented silence. The five who stood were clearly distressed. From the herd's rough condition, it seemed like they may have been roaming for a while.
The men’s eyes lit up as they glanced at each other. It was like finding treasure. They could breed these beef cattle with the bull one of the neighbors owned. It would be the beginning of a regular meat source for the community.
As Wade got closer to the small herd, he made a sound of disgust. "Looky here," he said, pointing to the cow closest to them.
The flesh on the cow’s back was torn. Its thick skin laid open, hanging from its body, flies covering the oozing wound. Wade waved his hand over the insects, disturbing them.
Dylan’s head jerked back in surprise. “Is that—? It can’t be.”
"Yep, it sure is, brother."
A human bite mark. One of the Sick had ripped this skin apart.
"It wasn't for food," Dylan said. "See, nothing is gone, it's just ripped up. 'Sides, once the illness gets advanced enough that they're attacking people, they can't seem to keep anything down."
"Skye said the rabies part of the virus rewires the brain so victims bite to spread the disease. Pry what happened here," Wade said.
"That's some tough hide to get through. It’s one strong-minded disease."
"And one good set of chompers."
Dylan pointed out the other group of cows. “Let's look at the others.” He looked over the calmer animals. “These look good. Better put those other ones down, but these we might be able to use. We can talk to Doc about it.”
Wade nodded his agreement. “Let's get back home and figure this out then."
The men walked through the forest, heading for the truck they'd left on the side of the road. After laying their bows in the bed of the vehicle, a faint sound caught their attention and they stilled. Raspy, heavy breathing snaked through the forest. It was unmistakable.
A large pack of Sick was in there somewhere.
Six
Horde
Dylan and Wade exchanged glances. With careful steps, they grabbed their bows and headed toward the guttural clamor. Once they were close enough to see the horde, they knelt and took a moment to work out a plan.
Wade pointed out the ten Sick milling around directly in front of them. Dylan nodded toward another eight restlessly pacing the forest off to the right.
Six of the eighteen had compromised limbs. Some so bad they did little more than clumsily drag a leg along behind them, causing a pull-hop kind of walk.
Dylan glanced at two Sick who seemed to have little difficulty walking. Their potential for speed was troubling.
Other than that, it was almost impossible to discern much about the group of Sick. So much dirt layered their clothing and body it was difficult to tell the original color of their clothes, hair or skin. The whites of their wild eyes seemed stark against their filthy faces and snarled messy hair. Red foamy drool hung in long wobbly ribbons from the lips of the sickest of them.
Dylan sadly shook his head. It was the fortunate ones who died quickly. Those who lingered only suffered, roaming and frightened. And this group looked as though it been out here a long time.
He stared at their eyes. Was there any thought or emotion left in these people? But if there was anything at all, it was confusion and terror. For the most part, though, their eyes seemed vacant. And it was better that way.
When Wade started to move to the left, Dylan put a hand on his arm. He gestured toward a Sick man and woman caught in the brush. Without success, they tugged and pulled at the thin branches, weeds, and thorns binding their legs, seemingly unable to understand why they were trapped.
Although just as dirty as the others, their lips were clear of the bloody froth. Dylan’s finger curled around the crossbow trigger as he ached to help them to stop the inevitable progress of the disease. Soon they too would have the red spit and slowly suffocate from it. But it wasn’t his place to do that. Not yet.
The time would surely come when anyone who came across someone Sick would have the authority to take care of them. But Tom was the man in charge of these matters, and as Sheriff, he wanted them taken to the closest containment area. Dylan didn’t really agree that course of action was the best for these people.
Wade eyed Dylan and whispered, “What are we doin’ here, D?”
Dylan sighed and lowered his bow. “What Tom wants.”
“It’s a crock, is what that is.”
“Tom likes to believe there’s still some kind of government left. It’s what holds the man together. I ain’t taking that away from him.”
Dylan pointed through the trees. “There’s a cabin back in there. If i
t’s empty, it’s as good a place as any to corral them until we get help moving them to the detention center.”
Wade circled around to the cabin, made sure it was empty and came back to Dylan. Then the two brothers walked toward the horde of Sick.
Some half-heartedly limped toward them, but others moved closer to the entangled man and woman as if unwilling to leave them.
“It’s okay,” Wade said. “That'll work too.”
The two men stayed just in front of their shuffling, stumbling followers, leading them to the cabin. After moving them through the front door of the house, the brothers walked out the back, leaving the Sick inside.
Dylan and Wade returned to six left outside, four roamed and the man and woman still stuck in the brush.
The roamers were the ones who worried Dylan. They were more limber and would be faster than the ones already secured.
He tensed and faked a move toward them.
The four Sick’s breathing quickened, causing them to snarl. They hesitated for a moment then hurled themselves at Dylan and Wade.
Dylan scurried backward, away from the horde. Wade turned and ran toward the cabin, luring them to it. Three followed Wade. One went for Dylan.
Still scrambling backward, Dylan lost his footing, going down hard and huffing a loud breath. In the next second, the Sick man was on him, teeth snapping.
Dylan shoved him away, pulling in some much-needed air. The smell of the crazed man almost caused him to retch. His aroma came from not only his lack of hygiene but the smell of rotting flesh.
The Sick man was on him again. That close, he was overwhelming large, massive, and still terribly strong. Dylan had to work to keep him from ripping at his flesh.
There was no doubt the ill man would do it. Between his scummy, dripping teeth were bits of skin and muscle. It had probably been this group who had been at the cattle.
Holding his breath as he fought, Dylan punched his attacker and quickly reached toward his belt for his knife. Before he could get to it, he was forced to bring his hand up to stave off the iron-like hands beating him.
Dylan rolled from one side to the other, avoiding as many blows as possible. On his second turn, he again made a move for the knife. He strained to hold the man back with a hand on his shoulder.
With Dylan’s focus on retrieving a weapon, the Sick man slipped from his hand. The next second, teeth chomped at his face.
Forgetting the knife, he shoved the guy and held him back. Red spittle dripped toward him, and Dylan quickly turned his head. Wet gooeyness rolled down the side of his neck.
He shivered, swallowing the ache in the back of his throat to avoid vomiting.
The teeth were at him again. Dylan grunted and gave an exasperated sigh. He needed to get this guy down. He’d had a lot more fight in him than he’d thought.
Dylan pushed on the Sick's slimy neck, doing his best to hang onto its spit-covered surface. His fear was that the Sick’s head would slip out of his hand and slam on top of him. He did the only thing he could do—he punched his attacker. Once, twice, three times. It didn't faze him.
Glad he had never faced this man before he’d became ill, Dylan positioned himself at a better angle.
The diseased man twisted his fingers through Dylan's hair and brought his face closer. Dylan's stomach coiled tighter as he realized he was becoming more and more immobile.
He bucked and jerked, trying to get away, but the big man held him fast. The gnashing jaws got closer and closer.
Dylan’s arms shook as he redoubled his efforts to push the man away. His mind spun, and he tried to pull inspiration from his jumbled thoughts.
He may not be bigger than this guy, but he sure as blazes better be smarter.
The Sick raised his arm, grasping at his neck. It gave Dylan an opening. As the man’s fingers clasped and tightened on his throat, he pulled his arm back. Clenching his fist, he slammed it into the Sick’s armpit.
The man let out a small, ragged cry and expelled a great repulsive breath. Dylan gagged.
Before he could roll away, the man was at him again. He threw up his left arm to protect his face and sent a hard punch with his right to the Sick's face. His attacker went down, stunned.
Dylan pulled his knife as he jumped away, but the man lay motionless. Dylan paced first one way then the other and let out a great huff of air.
Then he raised his head to look for his brother.
Seven
Humanity
A faint yell from Wade came from inside the house. Dylan raced for the cabin. His stomach clenched as he readied himself for another fight.
He burst through the half-closed wooden door. Two Sick had Wade pinned to the floor. More shuffled toward him.
Dylan pushed two lurching men through an open bedroom doorway to his left and banged the door shut. He threw himself at the third, surprised at its still substantial weight.
The ill man fell backward, his head denting the thin plyboard and bouncing off a two by four. He let out a low gurgling cry, then slid to the floor and stayed there.
Wade was still surrounded as he swung his rifle from side to side, fending off the horde. Dylan rushed to his brother’s aid, pulling at a scrawny woman clenching at Wade’s shirt. It ripped when he dragged her away. Dylan wrestled her to the backside of the couch and pinned her there.
Dylan turned to his brother and stopped. Hot breath on his neck sent a shiver up his spine.
It was the same foul-smelling Sick he’d left behind in the woods. This guy had some kind of vendetta.
Dylan tensed and elbowed him in the face. It slowed the guy down while he picked up a straight chair and broke it over his head. The ill man slumped to the rug and stayed still.
Turning, Dylan saw Wade knock out his last two attackers. He helped his brother off the floor then hurried out of the house before any others came for them.
Wade crashed the door shut behind them. “That didn't go as smoothly as I hoped it would. We need to be more careful, D. Maybe we need to just start, you know..."
Dylan nodded as he worked to tame his breathing. “I hear you, brother, I do. But I can't kill them outright. But if it had been any crazier, well, that's a different story."
Wade shot a look over at the two remaining Sick stuck in the brush. "I feel like leavin' those other two."
"We can't. You know we can't. What if they get loose? They could hurt someone, and we could end up fighting them another day.”
“Okay, but if they cause a ruckus, I'm doin' what I need to do. I’m tired of this.”
Dylan glanced at the Sick. Their clothes were just as torn and dirty as the rest of their group. The woman’s long hair was snarled with dead leaves.
He walked closer to study them and saw it. The reason he couldn’t kill the Sick with no regard.
Even in this advanced stage of the disease, some bit of humanity clung to them. A bit of intelligence that lingered. Dylan held up a hand as they tipped their heads, confusion covering their faces.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
When he pulled his knife, the woman reached for the man, fear in her eyes.
There was a punch to Dylan’s gut, and his jaw tightened. He hated this disease that made animals of people. Once, he could’ve done as Wade suggested and gotten rid of as many as possible. But now, as he looked at this couple, all he could think is that this could be him and Skye. Who said it wouldn’t be one day?
They thought they had beat the illness, but what if they hadn't.
He pitied the couple and wanted to somehow get through to them. Dylan gentled his voice and said, "I'm gonna use this knife to cut you loose. Then we're gonna take you to that cabin until we can get someone to take care of you. Okay?"
There was no nod of acknowledgment, just a slight squinting of their eyes as they tried to understand.
Dylan gave Wade a quick nod so he would watch for any other possible attack while he knelt to loosen them.
With a slow and careful hand, Dylan
cut the woman loose. She didn’t move a muscle as he worked. The man also cooperated. When finished, the brothers stood back to see what the couple would do. Though a bit unsteady, they stood calmly as if awaiting instructions.
Wade waved in the direction he wanted them to go. "The cabin's right this way.” He began walking toward it, and the couple stumbled behind him. Dylan brought up the rear.
The man put his hand to the woman's back as if ready to help her. Was the gesture so ingrained it was automatic? Or did the man still know what he was doing?
Wade reopened the front door of the house and roughly pushed at two Sick struggling for freedom.
The couple stepped into the house and waited for the door to shut, their wide, disoriented gaze on the men.
"I swear we'll get you help," Dylan said, his voice gruff with emotion as Wade pulled the door shut.
This is why he couldn't just mow them all down. Every time he started thinking of them as things, he was reminded they were humans—ill people. Unfortunates, who had been in the wrong place and contracted this disease. A virus making them behave in a way they would never have acted when they were healthy.
They were people who had watched their whole world crumble before their eyes. Dylan didn't mean the cities, towns, and governments. He didn't care about that and didn't see why anyone else would in this situation.
What he meant were the things that mattered, things a person held dear. The destruction and loss of a home. One constructed and carefully tended for years, like the one he and his brother had built.
The items a person proudly created such as the knife he carried. Running his hand over the handle, he recalled the hours he’d happily given to hand-carve it into the perfect grip.
Most of all, the people who surrounded you. His brother, Skye, and the boy. The affection he was developing for the rest of their new little community.
What if he’d watched all that crumble? Stood vigil as one of his loved ones turned into a monster?