The Feral Children [A Zombie Road Tale] Box Set | Books 1-3

by Simpson, David A.

  Cody let that sink in.

  “Why?” He asked.

  “You can’t really appreciate the good things until you survive the bad ones. Knowing how to win isn’t near as important as knowing how to lose. Somebody knocks you down, you get back up. You keep getting up no matter how many times they knock you down. You may lose anyway but you won’t have any problem looking in the mirror at yourself, because you didn’t quit. Those lessons you learn from failure shape your way of thinking so you don’t make the same mistakes again. Listen to me, your mom might be hard on you, but that’s because she loves you. She wants you to understand that real life mistakes have real life consequences. She’s probably not gonna tell you this, but she’s proud of you for taking a stand against those guys. I never met him, but I’ve heard stories about your dad and I really believe he would be proud too. I’d hate to have been in that office when she unloaded on the principal.”

  Cody smiled. The effort hurt his busted lip. He could imagine Mr. Bracewell, the principal, all red faced and looking like a gold fish that’d jumped out his aquarium, gasping for air as he flopped on the linoleum. His mom could be a real fireball when her buttons were pushed.

  “All I’m really trying to say buddy is that life ain’t fair. You gotta roll with the punches, but don’t compromise your values. You got suspended for doing what was right but I bet those guys don’t miss a single game. The world makes excuses and allowances for the privileged but throws the book at the regular guys like you and me. There’s no justice in that. There are always gonna be bullies. There’s always gonna be people that judge you by your looks or the brand name of your clothes. Truth is, none of that matters. What matters is that you lay down at night knowing you did your best and gave it your all. You hold the line for those that can’t. You could have walked away today and that pretty face wouldn’t be all skinned up, but you didn’t. You took a stand. You did what a real man would do. It’s ok to be scared. It’s normal to want to run when the odds are against you. I’ve known too many people that turned a blind eye to things they could have prevented and I wonder how they live with it. I don’t know what your future holds, but I’m pretty sure you will meet it head on. I’m proud of you and I’ll take a friend like you any day in my corner.” Derek flicked the Zippo again and snapped it shut.

  “What’s the deal with that?” Cody asked him. “You always do that thing with the lighter when you’re trying to be serious.”

  “That, my friend is a story for another time.” Derek handed him the lighter. “It belonged to someone who I owe a debt I can never repay. I want you to hold onto it for a while. It’s good luck. I ain’t giving it to you, so don’t get all mushy on me. It’s just a loaner until I ask for it back. You cool with that?”

  Cody nodded. “Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.”

  “Alright then. Let’s go see what your mom has lined up for us.” Derek stood and dusted off his pants. He put an arm around Cody’s shoulders as they walked towards the zoo.

  Kodiak snapped back to the present. His hand drifted to his pocket where the old Zippo rested against his hip. Derek’s words echoed through his mind. It was time. Time to make that stand. Time to end this, once and for all.

  His physical wounds hurt but they would heal. Bruises, contusions, bites and gouges from sharp claws covered his body. No doubt there would be more scars. More of the roadmap of old healed wounds that crisscrossed his body. The wounds in his heart would never heal, though. That pain was too raw and too deep. Too new. He couldn’t process it, didn’t know how to process it and he didn’t have time to properly grieve. Grieving would have to wait until after the blood spilling was done.

  He felt the power rippling through Otis as the bear padded along and tried to draw strength from his giant friend.

  I’m coming Gordon. This time though, only one of us is walking away.

  1

  Late May

  8 Months After the Outbreak

  Kodiak

  The winter snows had finally melted. The days became warmer and the fierce northwestern winds ceased their howling as spring gained its foothold in the forgotten corner of the world that encompassed the Piedmont Animal Sanctuary. The nights stayed cool, but the days grew progressively warmer and longer as the calendar inched towards summer and the new challenges that waited for the tribe.

  Nestled in the northeastern corner of Iowa, the Sanctuary was off the beaten path, miles from the nearest freeway. It was a destination location that drew crowds from around the States but it was also one of those places that if you weren’t looking for it, you probably wouldn’t find it by accident. That was fine with the tribe. They didn’t want to be found. They were safe and isolated and that suited them just fine.

  Abandoned cars blocked the roads that led to the zoo. The sanctuary was far removed from the death and destruction that raged through the big cities around the word. Its remote location and tall fences were one of the main reasons they had survived the roving hordes of undead in the early days. It was home for the eleven children and their animal companions, survivors of the virus that decimated the world’s population in a matter of days. The rival gang of Gordon Lowery and his crew were the only other living people they’d encountered in eight months. There’d been no sign of Gordon or his gang after the fierce winter battle that left their attackers broken and beaten. As far as they knew, they were the last humans on the face of the earth and they had been trying to kill each other instead of working together.

  Kodiak stared at the rows of vegetables in the roughly tilled soil, ignored the moaning and keening that came from the front gate. The dead were always there. They let a few linger as a deterrent for anyone seeking to do them harm and as an early alarm system. The brutal winter had been hard on the zombies. Ceaselessly wandering through the frozen landscape with no protection from the howling winds and blizzards, their undead flesh froze and broke off in icy chunks. The scavenger animals, or the Savage Ones as the tribe called them, also played a part, and never ceased their attacks on the undead, stripping rancid flesh and cracking bones in search of the marrow to feed their ravenous appetites. Kodiak wondered what would happen when the supply of undead exhausted itself and the Savage Ones had no other easy food source. Most of those animals had never encountered a live human, they had avoided them at all costs. Now they had no fear of the creatures that walked on two legs. The undead were an easy food source and none of the carrion animals went hungry. They grew fat and lazy and followed the hordes for easy meals. The area surrounding the sanctuary became home to many of the flesh eaters as the wandering undead came down the road, smelled the living and made their way to the gates.

  The packs were made up of animals that had no natural reason to be together but with the plentiful food source, they had no reason to fear each other. Swan had been further into the wastelands than any of the tribe. She told them about the coyotes and raccoons, opossums and foxes, feral pigs, stray cats and mongrel dogs still wearing their collars. They ran together in large groups following the walking meals and the tribe feared what would happen if they merged into one giant pack. Their behavior had to be related to the virus, each would treat the others as prey under normal circumstances, but nothing was normal anymore.

  She’d reported seeing them tear into the undead and devour every scrap of flesh and bone while flocks of ravens and vultures circled overhead seeking the leftovers.

  Before the harsh winter, there’d been no need to worry about the carrion animals attacking the zoo, there was plenty of food wandering around. It was easy to hunt, didn’t try to hide and didn’t fight back. The sanctuary was patrolled daily, everyone took their turn walking the miles of perimeter fence to look for burrowing holes or fallen branches but they’d seen nothing to give the alarm. Kodiak wasn’t too concerned, yet, the animals still tended to shy away from the living.

  The long hours of working the plow behind Millie, the old half blind black rhinoceros, were starting to pay off. There had been sev
eral grueling days of hauling the nutrient rich compost made from leaves and animal manure while fighting off the flies that swarmed around the horrid smelling mixture. They buzzed incessantly, flew up noses, into ears and open mouths. Tempers had flared, curses were flung but the tribe pushed through it. Every seed had been planted by hand. They didn’t have modern farming equipment or the knowledge to use it, so they did it the old-fashioned way.

  They had to know if they could do it. Had to know if they could bring food from the soil and sustain themselves. There were no adults to guide them. They couldn’t find old timers sitting in wicker rocking chairs whittling sticks or playing checkers to tell them the tricks of growing the juiciest watermelons and the biggest tomatoes. All they had was Murray’s books, the willpower and a yearning desire to make something out of nothing. The world was dead as far as any of them had travelled in any direction. They had to make it and make it on their own. Make it or die. So, they sweated under the sun, they endured the buzzing and biting insects. Blisters became callouses on their dirty hands and feet. They watched the skies for rain to turn the field into a sea of green. They made scarecrows to keep the animals away and as they ate Ravioli out of tin cans, they talked about the things they couldn’t wait to bite into.

  Millie had bristled and snorted every time the crude harness attached to the single row plow was hooked to the yoke on her thick neck. She was old. She was tired and wanted nothing more than to relax in the comfort of her enclosure with a bin full of hay. Patience and bribery with a steady supply of canned beets had coerced her into doing the job and once she got in the groove, she didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t mind either, because they had plenty of canned beets and nobody liked them.

  They were already enjoying the fruits of their labor. The corn was full and heavy on the stalks. The twins had roasted some every night since the first ears were ready for harvest and it was delicious. They were small ears and the corn worms ate their fair share but they picked the pests from the shucks and used them to bait their fish traps. It was all worth it when they bit into the first ears lathered in homemade butter and roasted in the shucks over open coals. Served with venison and freshly dug potatoes, they’d feasted on food that tasted so much better than anything from the cans.

  Soon, beans would be ready for picking and canning. More stores to put away in the cellar alongside the potatoes strung from the rafters in the legs of pantyhose. Squash, tomatoes and peppers were already canned in Mason jars and lined the shelves in the cellar. It was trial and error but they studied the books and learned from every mistake. This was life and death, this was eating well all winter or barely scraping by and Murray didn’t let them forget it. The old shelves bowed under the weight of the bounty.

  The green house was filled with carrots, onions, potatoes and different herbs. Plastic sheeting was duct taped over the windows that had broken during a winter storm. They made repairs with what they had and talked about building raised bed gardens next year to keep the rabbits out of their root crops.

  The twins were trying their hand at jellies made from the abundance of blueberries and blackberries that grew along the fence lines. Each batch was better than the last and once they’d figured out how to turn corn and wheat into flour and meal, they’d enjoyed the pleasures of bread once again. It was flat and lumpy with no yeast to make it rise and another item was added to the list of things to scout for. No one realized how much they missed bread until that first loaf was pulled from the oven and they all got a thin slice. It smelled wonderful and even though it wasn’t fluffy they were all grateful for it. Tobias and Analise promised to find a way to improve the recipe and kept throwing meaningful stares at Swan. She wandered the farthest, she should be able to find the yeast in someone’s home.

  It was a new beginning. There was no running to the corner store and grabbing a fresh loaf of Sunbeam or a gallon of milk. If you wanted milk, you got it from the cow in the petting zoo. If you wanted bread, you ground the grain between two rocks and made your own flour. All the bags they’d risked their lives to pillage from the tiny town of Putnam were filled with bugs. They thought they’d be fine in their paper sacks but the weevils showed them otherwise. It was a hard lesson, and not a mistake they’d make again. Plastic bins were everywhere for the taking, it just never occurred to them once the goods were in the cellar that they were still vulnerable.

  Their food stores had barely seen them through the long winter. The heavy snows and never-ending blizzards had made hunting and scavenging almost impossible, dangerous even. They’d had to run a guide rope between the house and the barn where the larger animals wintered, just to keep from getting lost in the blizzards. The pipes that supplied the old hand pump in the kitchen had frozen. The heat tape on them needed electricity and they hadn’t thought about it until it was too late. Murray said it could be fixed, they’d have to dig deeper, insulate better and have the night watch pump a little water through the pipes every half hour or so. None of that would happen until spring, though so they melted snow for their water. Personal hygiene was tough to maintain and they had given up on baths. It was too much work to haul buckets of snow, wait on it to melt, heat it and haul it up the stairs to the old cast iron tub. Plus every time the door was opened, it felt like all the heat got sucked right out of the house. They set up a blanket wall near the fireplace and took sponge baths.

  It had been tough being cooped up, even though the house had plenty of room for everyone to spread out when nerves got frayed and tempers flared. Board game pieces or playing cards were constantly disappearing, nabbed or eaten by one of the capuchins. Toy trucks and Legos brought curses from the older kids whenever a toe was stubbed. The wolf cubs chewed incessantly, the arms of the chairs and couch cushions all bore the marks of sharp canines. Clara cried when she found one of her baby dolls missing both legs and most of an arm.

  Children and animals shared the floor space of the parlor and each jostled for position closer to the warmth of the fireplace. Otis wanted to be inside, so did Yewan and the foxes. They could endure the cold but didn’t like it. Otis hogged the fireplace and no amount of cajoling could budge him from his spot. The polar bears and wolves wanted to be outside and usually slept on the porch. They loved the cold weather. Zero would howl mournfully on the nights when the moon shone bright, scaring everyone out of their restless slumbers. The capuchins were restless and into everything. If it was shiny or could be eaten, they tried to get it.

  Millie, Ziggy and Bert wintered in the barn. During the coldest days of winter, the tribe trudged through the snow that was often times up to their waist so that Vanessa and Harper could spend time with them. They cleaned their stalls, made sure the bedding was thick and deep. They filled fifty-five gallons drums with half rotted wood from the unused stalls and burned it to knock off some of the chill. The girls took the souvenir blankets from the gift shop to sew ponchos to help fend off the cold for the giraffe and ostrich.

  Bert didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be cooped up in the barn, but he didn’t want to be out in the snow.

  He was too big for the house and Ziggy was too skittish bedding down near the predator animals. Vanessa had tried putting her in a room by herself, but she pecked the door like a giant woodpecker until no one could stand it anymore. The carnivores would never hurt her, she was one of the tribe and able to defend herself, but millions of years of instincts couldn’t be changed overnight. Vanessa and Tobias almost came to blows over the situation. She finally relented when Ziggy knocked over a candelabra full of lit candles and the ostrich went back to the barn. They did the best they could to keep them comfortable.

  The winter was long and hard. They’d severely underestimated their supply of firewood and had resorted to burning antique furniture from the third floor to keep the house passably warm. On the days when the weather broke, they bundled up and trudged to the forest to carry back armloads of dead wood. The house was more than a century old and drafty. Cold air seeped in around the windows and
doors. Thin insulation let the chill in. The tribe stuffed every crack they could find with towels and rags, sealed off the unused rooms, wore multiple layers of clothing and buried themselves under thick piles of blankets. None except Donny had ever been through a winter without the benefits of electricity, furnaces and energy efficient homes.

  Blankets were piled haphazardly when they weren’t in use and several times stray embers from the fireplace would land on them. There was a mad scramble to put them out before the old house went up in flames. They learned quickly, but usually painfully about surviving on their own.

  Now, with June almost on them, thick green grass covered the fields in the old antelope enclosures. The soil was rich from the droppings over the years and the fence would serve to keep them and the gazelles from grazing on the crop vegetables. The lush green grass kept them sated once they had them all herded in there again. Many of them were nursing young ones born in the spring and they stayed in the smaller enclosure where they were given grains.

  Kodiak ran his hands through the long hair on his head, scratched at his irritated scalp. Someone in the house had fleas and his head was covered in tiny red welts from their constant biting. He’d endured Harpers efforts to groom him like one of the capuchins as she tried to get them out of his hair. All of the boys opted to wear theirs long, adorned with beads, feathers, acorns and any shiny baubles that caught their attention during the scavenging runs. After having his hair used as a handhold in the battles with Gordon and his gang, he’d considered going to a buzz cut, but didn’t want to listen to the tribe make fun of his ears that stuck out too far. Besides, it kept them warm in the winter and prevented them getting sunburnt in the summer.

  He sighed, just another problem to add to the list of never-ending work and responsibility. I’ll have Murray add flea and tick spray to the list. Along with all of the other things we are out of. I hope I never see the day when the world finally runs out of toilet paper, he thought.