The Feral Children (Book 2): Savages

by Simpson, David A.

  Harper was already there. He smiled. He had hoped she’d take the clumsy hint when he said he was going to the river when his checks were finished. She lay on a blanket, twirling her hair, a basket of fresh strawberries at her side.

  She tilted her head at his approach.

  “Oh my. I wasn’t expecting company.” She said in mock surprise. She wasn’t fooling anyone.

  He leaned his war hammer against the trunk of an old elm and plopped down beside her. The muddy lazy river, the eastern boundary of the park rolled by slow and steady. Otis waddled down to the shore and lapped greedily at the water.

  Nothing was said nor needed to be as they ate the strawberries and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had the braids tied back in a ponytail and he pulled the band free, let the blonde mane fall to her shoulders. Her face had a smudge of dirt from some chore and he wiped it away with his thumb.

  “Now you’re perfect again.” He said softly.

  She leaned in and their lips met. He was the only boy she’d ever kissed and if she had her way, he’d be the only one she ever did. She gazed in his eyes. Traced the scar that ran down his face. She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. They didn’t need to speak, the silence was comfortable and they both smiled as Otis stood on the bank waiting for a fish to get too close to shore. It didn’t take long before one did, was slapped on the bank and then carried over to a shade tree to be eaten as a pre-dinner snack.

  “I can barely remember the old world.” She said after a time. “And all the things that used to be important. I remember I was consumed with who liked my posts on Instagram and who was going to be picked for the junior varsity cheerleader squad. My mom was worried about getting her degree and Dad worked all the time. They always talked about what they were going to do when they had the time and the money. Sometimes I can’t remember what they looked like or the sound of their voices. It all seems like a dream and that this is the only life I’ve ever known.”

  Kodiak nodded. He understood. Late night X-Box tournaments with his friends and trying to get out of chores had been the norm for him. It had always been tough for him and mom after his Dad died, but they’d been happy. His wildest fantasy never saw him battling zombies beside a grizzly bear and living like a pioneer. Sometimes, he wished he was in a vivid dream and he’d wake up with his mom yelling at him to hurry up before he was late for school.

  “Do you think things will ever get back to the way they were?” Harper asked. “Is there any place left to go?”

  Kodiak shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. We can’t be the only people left.”

  They both looked at the sky, the vivid blues and puffy whites of slow moving clouds. They hadn’t seen or heard an airplane since the outbreak.

  6

  Donny

  Donny watched from his perch on a tree limb near the site of the old burnt out church. It was early afternoon and hot. Sweat coated his lithe body underneath the black armor, but he’d rather sweat with it on than risk getting bitten without it. Yewan lounged on a wide branch next to him. They were as still as gargoyles perched on the ramparts of a cathedral. The gentle swish of her tail was the only indicator the pair weren’t carved from obsidian. It was a good spot to watch for signs of the Savage Ones and overlooked a spot where deer liked to cross the road. The Savage Ones hungered and returned here when they couldn’t find prey. They would sniff for a scrap of bone or leathered flesh leftover from the battle.

  It had been a dull and uneventful hunt and they were ready to pack it in and call it a day. Nothing but squirrels and rabbits. Apparently, the deer hadn’t read the same book he had.

  Donny and Yewan both tensed at the sound of limbs breaking in the woods across the road. Something heavy was falling through the trees. He heard the grunts and stifled curses, caught a flash of something as it crashed through the branches and plunged towards the ground. There was a thud of a body hitting the forest floor and he winced despite himself. Whatever it was had hit hard. He gripped his spear tighter and laid a reassuring hand on the panther’s thick neck and watched. He wanted to run but held his position, his curiosity strong. They were safe here high above the ground and invisible in the shadows of the mighty oak’s limbs.

  A boy older than him staggered out of the wood line, stumbled through the ditch and on to the road. He held one arm close to his body like it was injured. He wore a heavy leather coat, even though the weather was too warm for it. He watched the boy stumble down the road, weaving and swaying, barely able to stay on his feet. He wondered where he came from. He had to have been in the tree for a long time, they would have heard him if he’d climbed up after they had taken their position. He must have been hiding up there for hours, maybe spying on them and had somehow slipped. Probably fell asleep.

  Curious, he slid down the limbs, landed silently at the base of the tree and followed. The road was empty and silent except for the rustle of the breeze through the tree limbs and the shuffling footsteps of the mysterious stranger. They watched as he fell, pushed himself back to his feet and staggered on. Donny held back, kept out of sight and watched. The stranger was unsteady, seemed more dead than alive and was moving toward the zoo. Maybe he was infected, maybe he’d been bit and had climbed a tree to get away from a horde. If so, why hadn’t Yewan sensed him? He had only been a hundred yards away.

  They could probably take him even though he wore guns. They could sneak up within spear distance. He seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings. They moved slowly through the trees, followed the zig zagging boy and watched for others. Gordon’s gang didn’t travel alone. If other people appeared, if they had guns, it was safer to run away and warn the tribe, they were stronger together. The stranger pushed himself to his feet, wobbled, checked his weapons with his uninjured hand and took a few more steps. Donny and Yewan followed cautiously, kept to the shadows and watched. The stranger could be overplaying his injuries, hoping to lure them out.

  They followed him for nearly half a mile. He stumbled over the debris that littered the road. He fell, forced himself back to his feet and left bloody handprints on the road. Donny heard him whispering to himself, but he couldn’t make out the words. He snuck closer and strained his ears. He kept repeating a name, Scarlet, almost like it was a prayer, like it gave him strength to keep moving. Donny didn’t sense hostility from the boy even though he was wearing armor and was armed to the teeth. He looked dangerous but there was something about him that didn’t feel like a threat, more like he was desperate for something. Still, he waited and watched. The strange behavior might be the virus, he could be infected and was in the last stages before he turned. If so, he’d run his sharp spear through the stranger’s skull and that would be the end of it. He stroked the panther’s fur, felt the bunched muscles, ready to spring at his command. His ring finger was ready to tap out the command for attack but not yet. He had to be sure it wasn’t just a hard knock to the head or maybe a fever. He’d killed before but he wouldn’t strike someone down for no reason.

  He watched as the boy collapsed heavily, saw his head bounce off the asphalt. He didn’t get back up this time but crawled towards the thickets overgrowing the ditch. He was trying to hide. No one else was sneaking up behind them and he knew the boy wasn’t pretending weakness to lure him out. If he was one of Gordon’s crew, he was alone. The way of the tribe was stealth and caution and he waited a little longer after the boy finally stopped moving and lay still.

  The older boy stayed down. Donny looked skyward and saw the buzzards circling over the body. He wouldn’t last long if the Savage Ones got scent of him. With the carrion birds overhead, the rest would soon follow.

  Donny watched for another minute, and then made his decision. He turned and raced for his tribe, Yewan by his side.

  7

  Tribe

  The tribe stood around the stranger lying on the side of the road. They watched his chest as it rose and fell, his breathing ragged and uneven. His face was smashed and bloody and old
scarring was visible through the puffy blue and black bruising. He wore leather pants, heavy boots and a battered leather jacket stained with old blood. Low riding holsters with deadly looking pistols were slung around his hips. His hair was long, his face ragged. He looked like a warrior, but there was no fight in the stranger. The only fight left in him was the fight to stay alive.

  “We should just put him out of his misery.” Tobias said. “He looks like Popsicle chewed him up and spit him out.”

  Analise punched him in the arm. “He needs help, dummy. We can’t just leave him here.”

  Harper and Vanessa agreed with her. Swan paced back and forth, her eyes studying every inch of the stranger.

  “He could be a spy.” She said. “Look what happened when we rescued Gordon. We can’t trust anyone outside of the tribe. He looks dangerous. Look at all that armor and those guns and knives. If he’s not one of Gordon’s he’s probably something worse. I say we take him back with us. I’ll get him to talk if he ever wakes up.”

  Kodiak crouched over him and started pulling the guns and knives out of their sheaths and holsters. The boy didn’t move, didn’t wake up. Otis stepped in close and sniffed. He chuffed and pawed him gently, checking to see if he still lived.

  “Otis doesn’t know him.” Kodiak said. “Neither do I. I saw all of Gordon’s gang up close when they beat the crap out of me. Unless he stayed behind in their hideout, he’s not one of them. Otis would have his scent and I would recognize him.”

  “Then where did he come from?” Harper asked but nobody had an answer.

  Zero and Yewan approached the boy. They each sniffed him and gave no indication they had ever smelled his particular scent. No growls or snarls, just indifference to a creature that posed no threat to their children. Like Otis, there was no aggression from the ebony cat. No raised hackles or bared fangs. Each of the animals sniffed him, prodded him with wet noses or paws. Satisfied, they returned to their companions.

  “I guess that settles it, then.” Kodiak said and stepped towards the older boy. “Gimme a hand guys. We’ll take him with us. If nothing else, maybe he’ll have some news about other places.”

  Harper gathered his weapons and placed them in her satchel as Donny and Swan quickly put together a travois. They both carried the ropes needed to build one, it’s how they carried the deer back from their hunts. Kodiak eyed the odd-looking belt around his waist, but it wasn’t a weapon. It seemed out of place considering the rest of his garb but it looked harmless, so he left it where it was.

  They took turns pulling him back, he weighed a lot more than a fully dressed whitetail. It was a long and bumpy ride but the stranger never woke up.

  8

  Diablo

  Diablo caught a new scent on the wind. It smelled human, but it was an unknown scent. His sensitive nose took it all in and processed it against the smells he was familiar with. He never forgot a scent once it entered his nose and this one was new. He smelled the sweat and the stink of illness. He set out in a cautious lope to investigate. The pack of Savage Ones trailed him at a safe distance. He was a brutal leader, often snatching the weaker ones to sate his ravenous appetite. The brutal memories of the long hard winter lingered in his brain. The hyena had never felt such cold and hated it. His kind were used to dry, arid environments. He had spent all winter shivering in a den formerly occupied by a mountain lion. The lion had fought viciously, and then tried to flee, but the sheer numbers of his pack had cornered and overwhelmed the big cat. After he’d feasted on the hot organs and bitter meat, the rest of them had reduced the animal to a pile of scattered fur and shattered bones. The kittens in the den soon followed their mother as they filled the bellies of the half mad pack.

  Diablo tolerated some of the other animals to share the den for the benefit of the body heat, the rest were left to fend for themselves. They never wandered far though; the draw of the Alpha was too strong. When his stomach growled, he feasted on his den mates rather than face the cold to seek out a meal. There were plenty more of them, eager to take the place of the devoured.

  The hyena missed the kinship of his brother, Demonio. He would have preferred to be alone, but millions of years of survival instinct made him tolerate the rest of the pack. He needed them to live and that dominated any other desires he had to travel alone.

  He hungered. The stinking humans were in short supply. The winter had frozen them, slowed them down to where they were even easier to catch and devour, but their numbers had dwindled and they ranged far and wide to find prey. The young humans inside the fences were frequently in his thoughts, but the thoughts were tainted with misery. He remembered the loss of Demonio, the fangs of the wolf and the metal claws of his human girl. It kept him cautious, but he always circled back to the zoo. He would stay for a time, eat his fill and watch. There were always stinking humans at the gate but he was wary. The lesser animals could eat their fill but if he was seen, the humans inside the fences would try to hurt him. He kept his distance or only snuck in late at night. He watched the humans inside the fence for a time and when he left again seeking easier prey, only the fastest ran with him: The wild dogs and coyotes. The opossums and rats, the raccoons and cats remained at the zoo. They had grown too fat and lazy to run with the pack, they stayed and gorged themselves, tried to satisfy a hunger that couldn’t be sated.

  The humans were weak and slow when they were separated from their group. They were no match for him and his powerful jaws. He would hunt them as his ancestors did. Stalk them and pick off the stragglers. Crack their bones for the sweet marrow. Not yet though. For now, he would content himself with rotted flesh and the weaker animals until the opportunity presented itself. The rancid meat filled his belly, but never sated his appetite. The flesh from the stinking humans stoked the fires of his rage, caused him to devour long after his belly was distended, yet he hungered still. It was maddening. He stifled the urge to let loose a laughing bark and increased his loping gait. He wanted a closer inspection of the new scent.

  As he neared the fences, the smaller members of his pack joined the group and followed on silent padded feet. The coyotes, wild dogs, feral cats, raccoons, opossums and the once domesticated pigs fell in place. He always found the food. They understood his cruel reign. He was the strongest of them all and the Alpha.

  The scent of the new human grew stronger and he slowed, careful to keep the wind in his nose so he could remain undetected by his prey. He growled a warning to the others to stay back and dropped to his belly and crawled forward to investigate. He detected a multitude of intermingled scents from the young ones and their beasts as he watched from the safety of the thick brush. They rested just inside the fence as they gathered around the source of the unknown smell that lured him there, the blood covered human. He inhaled all the aromas. Cross checked and cataloged them against his olfactory memory. He drooled at the thought of fresh meat. Hot and rich with warm blood. His muscles bunched, his rage and hunger threatened to overwhelm his protective senses when he smelled the scent of Demonio. The wolf girl wore his pelt across her back.

  Diablo was a scavenger by design. His DNA was programmed to take the least amount of risk and steal the prey from stronger animals by stealth or overwhelming numbers of his kind. He tamped down his blood lust and watched as the small ones lifted and carried the new one across the field to their den. The big bear sniffed the wind and looked in his direction. He forced his body lower and lidded his eyes. He knew he couldn’t win this fight and remained motionless. His mottled, tawny hide blended seamlessly with the foliage. Hunger gnawed at his belly as he scooted away from the sure death that awaited him. He growled a low growl to his pack and loped into the forest in search of an easier meal. He would watch, he would wait and when the time came, he would close his strong jaws on their frail bodies and feast.

  His limping gait carried them swiftly towards the outskirts of Putnam, only a few miles away. He and his pack had found one of the lairs of the stinking humans yet were unable to get at them.
They’d circled and scratched, pawed and growled at the shapes moving in the window, only to wind up frustrated and hungry. His growl increased to match the rumble of his belly. He didn’t like being thwarted from a meal, drool ran from his massive jaws and he increased his speed towards the lair of the stinking ones. He vaulted the steps and crashed into the door. Pain coursed through the old wound in his shoulder. The wound inflicted by the wolf so many months ago. He crashed into the wooden door again. He would not be denied this meal. A coyote yipped and crashed into the door beside him. The Savage Ones hungered as much as their alpha and his fury inflamed their own. Diablo eyed the stinking ones through the window as more of the hungry animals flung themselves against the door. Opossums and raccoons scaled the rain gutters and chimney. Strong teeth and nimble paws tore at the mesh chimney cap, eager to work their way inside to be the first to feed. A mixed breed dog flung himself at the pane glass window. It shattered and he yelped as the glass shards dug into his flesh. He fell and flopped on the porch, licking at his wounds until the others sensed his vulnerability, fell on him and devoured him in seconds. The cats ran under the porch, chunks of meat in their jaws. Wild pigs and coyotes snapped tusks and fangs at each other as they fought over the bones. The ravens, crows and vultures descended in flocks that blotted out the sun in their own quest for a tasty morsel. The undead family spilled through the shattered window. A mother, father, teenage girl and a toddler. Trapped inside since the outbreak, the virus inside them screamed for a chance to feed, to spread and replicate. The chimney cap fell free and the raccoons and opossums scurried down. They spread through the house, seeking anything to fill their bellies. The pantry doors were torn from their hinges from the weight of the animals, food boxes were shredded and the contents gobbled up.