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

by Simpson, David A.

  “You can’t do this. There are still too many of them. It’s dark. Let him go. I promise you we will hunt the rest of them down. I promise. We need you here, with us. Look, everyone is hurt. If you go out there you will die.” Harper pleaded softly.

  “I don’t care!” Swan yelled and redoubled her efforts to get free.

  “But I do.” Tobias said as he limped up the porch steps, Analise beside him. They were soaking wet, dripping with water and blood, their dark tribal tattoos stark against their pale skin in the moonlight.

  “Somebody help!” Landon yelled from the kitchen and the fire in her eyes receded as some of the madness faded away. She quit struggling and Donny let her go as everyone rushed toward the pantry.

  The little triplets were trying to get Murray’s chair out of the closet but it was overturned and tangled in a jumble of broken jars, boxes of spilled noodles, dead animals and hundreds of cans from the smashed shelves. The boy was half buried from the avalanche and the monkeys weren’t helping as they chittered and tried to tunnel into the pile to get close to him.

  It only took a moment to fire up the lanterns, get him upright and back in his chair as the adrenaline faded. The battle craze of only seeing what was trying to hurt you, of kill or die, was replaced with pain as they looked around at the extent of the damage.

  Landon, Caleb and Clara’s faces and arms were cut and scratched. The triplets had fought a desperate battle; it was the first time they’d used their homemade icepicks in a real fight. Landon had lost his and had bashed at the furious creatures with a can of beans. They fought with hands. With teeth. With anything they had. Blood crusted Vanessa’s face and leaked from the corner of her mouth. Tobias had an eye almost swelled shut from the gouges above and below it. Murray’s leg was laid open from a boar, the one buried in the jumble of cans with a dagger sticking hilt deep in one of its eyes. Their clothing and armor was tattered and torn. Bite marks and claw slashes covered their arms and faces. Their animals weren’t in any better shape. All were cut, bitten, bloodied and licked at wounds.

  Kodiak looked like he’d been through a meat grinder. The hogs had worked him over. If he hadn’t been wearing his armor, they’d have ripped him to shreds. Otis was almost as bad. They both bled from dozens of bite and claw marks.

  Harper’s ear was torn where hungry teeth had ripped the earring from it. Her pants were shredded and barely hanging on. Blood dripped from a nasty bite wound on her hand to puddle on the floor.

  Swan felt the pain of the bites and scratches she’d suffered as the adrenaline in her system wore off. She was just as bruised and battered as the rest of the tribe but everyone was still alive. They hadn’t lost anyone. Her shoulders slumped. A wave of exhaustion swept over her. The whole fight had only lasted a few minutes but she felt like she’d been fighting for hours.

  She felt empty and hollow as her rage ebbed. She was a vicious fighter and she had lost herself in the battle, she hadn’t been ready for it to be over. She wanted to keep killing. It nagged at the edges of her conscience. She was so far removed from the carefree girl from before the outbreak that it didn’t seem real anymore. A wisp of memory of a girl in a tie-dyed t-shirt waving a protest sign was all that remained. It scared her when she thought about it too much, so she tried not to. Push it down, lock it away. The old world was gone and wasn’t coming back. Sometimes she missed her former self, but she had to maintain her edge. It kept her and her tribe alive and that was all that mattered.

  Swan looked one more time out of the broken doorway into the blackness. She would chase Diablo to the ends of the Earth if that’s what it took, but the tribe came first. That was the only thing that allowed them to stay strong and survive.

  Vanessa would have a set of claw mark scars to go along with her self-inflicted ones. She probed gently at the vertical slashes and winced when her fingers touched the raw flesh. She couldn’t even remember what animal had inflicted it. The battle was a blur of savagery and carnage. Her throat was raw from the screams as she thrust and hacked her way through the invaders. Her arms were so heavy with fatigue she could barely hold them up. She took inventory of herself. Not one square inch of her exposed legs and arms wasn’t crisscrossed with scratches or bites.

  Donny finished off the few animals that survived then rubbed a bloody hand through Yewan’s equally bloody fur. Most of his armor was torn off, they’d have to replace the elastic traps with leather bands and buckles. He held his hand over the gash in his stomach that oozed a steady stream of blood. One of Yewan’s ears was in tatters and her sleek fur was torn in places.

  Murray cradled the arm that something had bitten. He thought it was a raccoon that took a piece of his flesh but the closet had only been lit with a glowstick, it was hard to tell. The deep puncture wounds throbbed. His leg was ripped open from the jaws of the boar. He’d gladly endure the pain if he could feel it. Even for just a minute. The capuchins fussed over him as they poked and prodded, combed his hair with worried fingers. He swatted at them halfheartedly. He knew they only wanted to help.

  “Everybody to the vet’s office.” Kodiak said. “Bring the companions, too. We need to patch everyone up and clean out the wounds, those animals eat the dead.”

  They’d be lucky if they weren’t all sick from infection by morning. The Savage Ones feasted on unclean meat. He whispered a silent prayer that their bites and scratches didn’t carry the virus. Murray was certain it wouldn’t jump across species, but who really knew? It was all a guess. He shuddered at the thought of one of them turning. He loved the tribe with all of his heart, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do what had to be done if any of them became one of the mindless undead.

  “We’ve got to check the barn! Ziggy and Bert are in there!” Vanessa exclaimed.

  She and Harper raced through the door, their hurts forgotten as the others started gathering their own companions and limping to the station.

  They rejoined the group with both happy and sad news. The petting zoo had been completely wiped out but their companions were fine. The savage ones attacked the weak and helpless and Bert and Ziggy were neither. They had left smashed and tattered bodies in their wake as they fought their way out of the pens and into the open range. By lantern light they washed away the blood, cleaned out the cuts and scratches, sewed up flayed open wounds and swallowed aspirin to dull the pain. The fight had been brutal but brief and the tribe had only lived it because they kept their weapons and armor so close at hand. They wouldn’t have survived the thousands of scratches and bites the plastic and metal had absorbed and deflected. They would have bled out from a hundred cuts.

  “Think they’ll try again?” Harper asked as the eastern sky shifted from black to grey in anticipation of the sun rising over the horizon.

  The two of them sat on the bench in front of the clinic, the tribe and their animals patched and sleeping inside.

  “Don’t know for sure but I doubt it.” Kodiak said, exhaustion urging him to turn in with the rest on one of the makeshift beds in the office. “We killed hundreds of them. They found out we aren’t an easy meal like the undead.”

  “The hyena is leading them.” Harper said and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think he hates us.”

  “Animals can’t hate.” Kodiak said. “At least I don’t think they can.”

  “That one can.” She said.

  21

  Cleanup

  Kodiak and Tobias struggled to drag the carcass of a large boar through the shattered doorway. Their muscles ached and their wounds trickled fresh blood. Their efforts caused the skin around their crude stitches to pull. They ignored the itching and the burn and pushed through the protest of strained and bruised muscles.

  The tribe went about their gruesome task in silence as they tossed them on the open sided wagon used for hayrides. At least they had the tractor to haul them off and it could be done in a single trip, not dozens it would take using the lawn cart. Grunts and the occasional dry heave from the awful smell or the shovel of
guts were the only sounds. The triplets had returned from the petting zoo with tear filled eyes and a single, half-filled bag of dead chicken and goat parts. All of their livestock was gone. The only thing left of their cow was bones picked nearly clean by the birds.

  Kodiak told them there were more chickens and cows out there they could bring back to the zoo, but they would be without eggs or milk until they found them. The antelope and gazelle were all dead. Slaughtered in the pen that was supposed to keep them safe. It had been a mistake to cage them. His mistake. He muttered a curse under his breath. Why was nothing ever easy?

  The garden was trampled flat and the destroyed crops were already turning brown. There might be a few ears of corn that could be salvaged. Maybe a few beans. The greenhouse was in tatters, the plastic torn, the poles knocked over, the raised beds spilled out. Most of the early beans, jellies and fruits they spent weeks canning had been knocked off the shelves in the basement and lay broken in a sticky mess. They still had the canned goods from the pantry and the meat in the smoke house but it wouldn’t be enough to last a winter. Hunting had been slim and dangerous through the winter months last year. Most times Donny and Swan came back with nothing. They had rationed, they had been okay and there was always the livestock to butcher if they absolutely had to. That option was gone now. The new herds, the foals and calves and babies all gone along with their mothers. It was too late to plant another garden, the first frost could hit as early as September and it would take them weeks to get everything prepared for planting again. Kodiak wished he could be as optimistic as Murray about the warehouse. For all he knew it was full of car parts or something.

  The house was in shambles, too. Broken windows, broken doors, broken walls. They threw away their gore drenched blankets and scrubbed at the floors to lift the stains. He would have to figure out how to put new windows in it but he was sure Murray had a book that would tell them how. Plastic nailed over the openings would be okay for now but not when it was ten below. The house had the only fireplace, they didn’t have an option to move into any of the other buildings.

  There were too many bodies to burn or bury, they didn’t want a pile of rotting meat anywhere near the zoo and they didn’t really trust the tractor to go very far. At least not until they had a chance to test it out. The fish and turtles in the Mississippi would have to dispose of them.

  They worked hard but took breaks to care for their companions. The bears shook it off, their thick hides had protected them from the worst of the teeth and claws. River had been hurt the worst, deep puncture wounds from Diablo had torn one of his shoulders to shreds. They still weren’t sure the wolf cub would live if infection set in, the gashes were deep.

  With the help of the triplets, Murray took inventory as the rest did what they could do to seal up the house again. The grocery store in Putnam was empty of edibles. It was small to begin with and it had been their main supplier for months now. The kitchens of the few restaurants in town had long ago been raided. He made more notes as they called up from the basement and gave him a count of the unbroken jars. Swan could recheck some of the abandoned places she’d already cleared. Donny and Yewan could look for livestock to replace their slaughtered herd. It was June and they were basically starting all over again. He wasn’t worried about the coming winter like the rest of them, Bob had assured him the warehouse was full of food, enough for years. He’d wanted to get on the road to self-sufficiency, though. He didn’t want to depend on anything outside the fences. He wanted them to be able to live without raiding because they would have to go farther and farther and eventually all the goods would run out. It would be like so many of the movies he’d seen or video games he played. People would kill each other over a can of beans. They needed to be able to make more food. They’d be okay, he wasn’t worried about starving, but he didn’t like having all of their eggs in one basket. That was asking for trouble. He had to look no further than the pen full of dead antelope and their trampled garden to see that.

  22

  Kodiak

  Kodiak leaned against the door of the cleaned-out barn. He was ready to flop down in the fresh hay and take a much-needed nap.

  It had taken most of the day to clean the house and board up the windows. His stomach grumbled with hunger but they hadn’t eaten, just snacks. The gruesome task had driven their appetites away and exhausted most of their cleaning supplies. They’d have to get more when they went on a food run. The stink of death still hung over the house, even stronger than the Pine-sol and bleach. No amount of scented candles was gonna clear out that smell anytime soon. His hands ached from carrying hundreds of buckets of bloody mop water from the house.

  He was tired and sore. His wounds hurt and his mind was heavy with worry. Not for the first time, he wondered how he’d survived so far. He couldn’t see all of the things he’d done right, just those things he’d done wrong. He’d been the last one at the hyena cage. He should have checked the gate latch. He knew how dangerous they were. Derek’s death was on him. Lucy’s death was on him. He tried to find a way to blame himself for his mom’s death too.

  He’d been the one to find Gordon. He’d been the one who’d extended mercy when Gordon continually screwed up. The boy that Bert killed was on him too.

  He could have just as easily been home in bed on the day of the outbreak. He could have faked an upset stomach and his mom would have believed him. There was plenty of sickness going around those days leading up to the outbreak. He could have had the whole day to himself, just him and his Xbox and raw chocolate chip cookie dough. She would have been none the wiser. He had thought about, had almost tried it, but he knew they needed him. He’d already heard her on the phone with Derek, had overheard them talking about the others who’d already called off. He’d gone in because it was what he was supposed to do and because his mom was counting on him. She was still counting on him. He’d sworn he’d do what her goodbye letter had asked. He would keep that promise as long as he drew breath.

  It wasn’t all his fault, but he tried hard to make it be. He constantly questioned if he was doing the right thing. Harper insisted that his constant self-assessment was what made him a good leader. He’d grunted. Sometimes it was too much to process. He had to decide what was best for the tribe.

  He thought about the triplets. They’d never been to a school dance. There’d never be a homecoming football game in their future. They’d never get the chance to make googly eyes at another boy or girl over banana splits at the Dairy Queen. All the rites of passage of growing up were stripped from them. Vanessa, Murray and Harper tried their best to teach them a basic curriculum but so much of it didn’t matter now. Who cared if you knew algebra? It was much more important to know how to build a fish trap. They’d regress further and further without the influence of society. Out here, there were no rules. No structure. Sure, survival was an education in itself but all it took was one mistake and you were dead or one of the undead.

  He pondered over something Murray had told them as they had looked at the ruined house, the dead bodies and the work that was ahead of them.

  Bob said we could go to Lakota. He’d then went on to describe a walled city with hundreds of acres of open land and clean water and schools and a Chucky Cheese and a whole town of good people.

  “I knew he was lying about coming from Canada.” Swan said. “It just didn’t make sense.”

  Murray talked about the place as they worked and it sounded too good to be true. Maybe it was. Maybe the stranger had told a lie but what if he hadn’t? Could Lakota be the answer? Murray made it sound like the old world was alive and well within its walls. Bob had assured him there would be a place for the animals, but would there really? Would civilized people be comfortable with a 1200-pound grizzly bear walking down the sidewalk?

  If they stayed, he knew someday, someone would leave the tribe. Wanderlust would set in or some dispute that couldn’t be settled. Food was still abundant, but it wouldn’t always be. They thought they’d had i
t made with the garden and the Savage Ones destroyed it in minutes. He dreaded the day he woke up to find a note from Swan, maybe Donny. They would want to see what was out there beyond the fences and the rivers. Zombies wouldn’t always be the biggest threat. A few more winters and it would be pretty safe to go out in the world as long as you were careful.

  Curiosity might be the biggest threat to the tribe. What was there to discover in the burnt-out cities and abandoned towns? The factories and laboratories. The top-secret places on military bases. So many possibilities. Did they really want to stay and be dirt farmers forever? He felt the pull but he felt the duty to the tribe more. The promise to mom. Someday he wouldn’t be needed. Murray thought that in five years most of the zombies would be so ate up they wouldn’t be dangerous anymore. What then? Ride off into the sunset with Harper? Find one of those fortified towns and settle down to raise fat babies and try to forget the past?

  He pushed the thoughts away. There was too much to focus on in the here and now. Murray was pretty confident the warehouse held food. If he was right, they’d be okay. If he was wrong, they’d still be okay. It would just be a lot harder.

  He rubbed a hand over Otis’s fur as the big bear lumbered into the barn, looking for a spot to sleep.

  “We’ll figure something out, buddy.” He said. “We have to.”

  23

  Gordon

  Gordon fiddled with the knob on the Ham radio in the basement of the deserted house. None of the others knew about it and he wasn’t sharing. He knew his way of running things was the best way, but he caught the glares from the corners of his eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. He was in control, for now. That could change. He knew he was heavy handed and most of their compliance was based in fear. A few of them were onboard of their own choosing, but the others he’d have to watch. It was best to have a backup plan. And a plan after that.