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

by Simpson, David A.

  “I’m not telling you this to scare you.” Misty continued. “I’m telling you so you know what’s coming. I’m telling you so you don’t surrender. You have to make them kill you, Swan. If you don’t, you’ll wish you had.”

  She opened the box and pulled out the wedding dress, complete with veil and long train.

  “This was mine. He wants you to wear it because he said tonight is your wedding night. Tonight he’s going to have his way with you and so will the rest of them.”

  “Over my dead body.” Swan snarled, repulsed at the thought.

  “Exactly.” Misty said and emptied the rest of the box. “It’s the only way. Gordon has the only gun, you have to make him shoot you.”

  Swans’ leather pants, her armor, some makeup and lipstick and a pair of short knives tumbled out on the bed.

  “I was supposed to burn your clothes,” she said, “but I thought you might want to wear them one last time.”

  Swan looked at the wedding dress in disgust as she pulled on her pants but paused and fingered the soft silky gown.

  “I have a plan,” she said. “Help me get into this thing.”

  38

  Fight

  Swan looked at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors that covered one wall. The dress was too big but with her armor and leathers on she filled it out. She cut off the train and slit the sides from floor to armpits, leaving only a few thin strands to hold it together. She smeared mascara on her fingers and wiped it across her nose, eyes and cheeks. Her smile was savage.

  “They’ll know you helped me.” Swan said. “They’ll come for you.”

  “I know.” Misty said then showed her the knife in her hand and the scars on her wrists. “I won’t fail this time.”

  “You could fight.” Swan said. “You could help.”

  Misty shook her head. Up until the world fell her whole life had been about hair styles, beauty magazines and nail salons. She’d never been athletic, had never played sports and had never struck anyone in anger. She didn’t know how to fight back.

  “No, I can’t. I tried once. They laughed, plucked the knife out of my hand and slapped me for being silly. I just can’t. This is my way of escape, it’s what I want.”

  Swan wanted to argue but the boys outside banged on the door.

  “Let’s go!” one of them yelled. “Enough stalling, the Boss wants to see his bride.”

  Misty pulled the veil over Swan’s painted face and smiled sadly before she opened the door. They grabbed Swan roughly and pulled her out of the bondage dungeon, past row after row of wine racks and finally into the little elevator. Bong snickered drunkenly when the doors closed and reached over to grab her breast.

  “Your boss won’t like that.” She told him as she let the paring knives drop into her hands.

  “What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” The other boy said and reached cruelly between her legs. “But it will hurt you.”

  Their laughter turned to gargled splutters as the blades flashed across their throats. A crimson shower spurted out in arcs, covered her in hot blood and both boys grabbed their flayed open necks. Their eyes widened as she threw back the veil, revealed her blackened face and wide smile. The elevator came to a stop on the second floor, the doors slid open and the wedding march started playing over the speakers. Drunken cheers and lewd shouts came up from below, promises of pain and what they were going to do to her. Swan thought about running. She could rip off the dress and flee, find a window to climb out. She could escape but there were a half dozen boys dressed in ill-fitting suits waiting at the head of the stairs. Her bridal party. They would catch her. Gordon wanted maximum humiliation and maximum degradation for her. He knew it was supposed to be a special day, the happiest day of a young girls’ life and he was going to make it the worst.

  They’re going to know they’ve been in a fight. She told herself. Get a few more before they get you.

  She braced herself, stepped onto the landing and smiled at the silence and shocked faces when they saw her blood covered dress, her painted face and the knives in her hands. The balcony doors were open to let in the summer breezes and the sound of a howling wolf could be heard over the strands of the bridal song. Other wolves joined and they were close.

  She tilted her head back, let out a howl and heard the answering howls of her pack. She smiled a wicked smile and ran for the stunned boys on the landing. She might walk away from this fight after all.

  Swan charged into the older, bigger boys who threw up their hands in surprise and confusion. None of them had weapons, none of them wore armor. There was no need, she was supposed to be a scared, little girl. She sprang, landed and aimed for eyes. One boy went over the banister as they tried to scramble out of her way. She growled and snarled and her steel flashed and found skin with every thrust. She was a hell beast, moving fast, slashing faster then jumping to the next boy. A bleeding arm or slashed leg would stop them, make them tend to their wounds. She didn’t have time to kill them all, she could come back and do that in a minute. They tried to defend themselves, tried to attack but the blades spoke the language of pain, found soft flesh and laid it open. One of them tried to grab her, slam her to the floor but she jabbed the short, blade into his belly and pulled upward. He screamed as it split open his stomach and acid diluted whiskey poured out.

  As the last boy turned to run, she jumped on his back, wrapped her legs around his waist and started machine-gunning the blades in and out as fast and as many times as she could. She opened wound after wound until her hands were slick with blood. He struggled to get away from the savage girl, flailed his arms and screeched in pain and fear. Halfway down the stairs he fell just as Gordon’s hand cannon started blowing away chunks of drywall and splintering the railing.

  39

  Party Crashers

  Gordon emptied the gun but wasn’t sure if he hit her or not. He fumbled the cylinder open and tried to remember where he put the extra bullets.

  “Don’t just stand there, get that bitch!” he screamed at the transfixed boys. The gang tore their eyes from the bloody body tumbling down the stairs and snatched up the weapons that were laying around. A few baseball bats, some knives and clubs. Gordon had the only gun; the rest were locked away.

  The glass in the French doors exploded as Zero crashed through with the cubs right behind him. Their noses sought the familiar scent of the girl. Swan smiled when she saw them.

  “Kill!” she screamed. “Kill them all.”

  The wolves obeyed.

  The double front doors exploded inward as Otis burst through, a wild, painted bear and a demon with a Warhammer on his back. He roared and it felt like the whole house shook to its foundation as he bellowed in rage. He tossed a couch aside, sent it flying across the room and stuffing filling the air.

  Gordon’s gang broke and ran. They ignored his screams to attack and scattered as more animals poured into the living room. The wolves slid on the slick tile floors of the kitchen, their claws fighting for traction as their teeth found meat and bone.

  The back door exploded off of its hinges and the mob of boys running for it tried to backpedal and find another escape. Two massive polar bears added their roars and challenges to the cacophony of chaos and the tattooed twins swung saw bladed axes at wild eyed drunks trying to slash at them with butcher knives. One of them slammed Analise off the polar bears back with a hockey stick, another threw a microwave at Tobias. The kitchen island splintered when Daisy crashed through it, the hanging rack of pots and pans went flying and added to the deafening noise. The microwave caught Tobias across the chest, knocked him out of the saddle but he landed on his feet. He let loose a primal scream and extended the axe to its full reach as he swung. It slashed across the boy’s midsection, the ragged saw blade’s teeth sliced deep through his chest, breaking ribs, cutting lungs and tearing loose long strands of flesh. He dropped the toaster he’d been ready to crush Analise’s head with and fell gasping for breath. The twins leaped over him and r
an into the melee in the living room. Daisy and Popsicle snapped the baseball bat and ignored the desperate slashes of a hunting knife as their long claws and sharp teeth broke bones and ripped limbs from screaming bodies.

  Vanessa flung her spear and it pinned a boy to the wall who was swinging a barbed wire bat at Donny’s back. She grabbed a chair as she ran through the splintered door, slammed it into the chest of a boy with a hockey stick and drove him backwards over a coffee table. Yewan pounced with claws and fangs and his shrieks of terror turned to gurgling, blood filled sobs. Harper’s morning star whistled as it whirled above her head and found target after target with its spiked ball. The triplets held back at the entrance like they were told, icepicks in hands and their foxes at their feet snarling warnings to anyone that came near.

  The house was absolute chaos. The attack hit the gang so hard and so fast it broke their will in the first few seconds. How did they fight wild screaming children with painted faces and bears and wolves to battle with them? Roars and snarls and screeches of pain filled the air. Breaking dishes, breaking furniture and breaking bones. It was the sound of war. Gordon fumbled the bullets, managed to get some in the chambers but his trembling fingers dropped them as all around his army was slaughtered. He wanted to scream and run but there was nowhere to go. Kodiak battered Spike out of the way with his hammer, snapping an arm and pulverizing ribs. The boy was jerked off his feet by a half-grown wolf as he bounced off the wall. He fell and the others tore into him, savaged him like a rag doll.

  Kodiak roared a battle cry and cocked the hammer back to end Gordon once and for all. He wanted his face to be the last thing the despicable scumbag ever saw. He swung but Gordon flipped the cylinder closed on the Smith & Wesson and squeezed the trigger. Jamie fell into him, the panther was slashing at his face and knocked Gordon’s aim off. The gun boomed and plaster exploded from the ceiling. He ignored the howling pair, aimed again and pulled the trigger. Harper sprang over an easy chair and swung her morning star at the boy with the gun. The spikes slammed into his shoulder dug deep into the bone and she jerked him off his feet. Kodiaks hammer whizzed past his face, narrowly missed splashing his brains all over the wall as he was pulled off balance. Gordon screamed, squeezed the trigger as he fell and a bullet tore through Kodiaks armor, skimmed a rib and buried itself in an upstairs hot water heater. Kodiak sucked in breath, hit the floor and rolled behind a broken couch. He kept moving forward. Attack, attack, attack was the only thing going through his mind. He ignored the burning in his side and pushed himself to his feet. They had the momentum, they were winning, they couldn’t let Gordon’s gang have a second to regroup and bring out more guns.

  Harper had the morning stars chain wrapped around her arm and when Gordon fell, she stumbled over a body and was jerked off her feet. He rolled into her and before she could shove away, the hot barrel of the gun pressed against her cheek. He pulled her on top of him and held the hand cannon firm. She stopped fighting, afraid he’d pull the trigger, and held still. All around them the battle was dying down. Mostly because all his men were dying or dead.

  You might live through this yet. His father told him. Stop struggling. Be calm, you have the upper hand now.

  The roars of the bears became heavy snorts when they stopped ripping people apart. The snarls of the wolves become low growls when they had nothing left to kill. The panther stopped screaming when there was no more blood to spill. Kodiak held his hammer, watched Gordon’s beady eyes as they darted around the room and waited. Vanessa joined him, the spear in her fists still dripping blood. Gordon tried to make himself small under Harper, tried to shrink so they couldn’t see him but the gun buried in her face didn’t waver. His finger never left the trigger. He didn’t have to shout a threat, he didn’t have to yell I’ll blow her head off. They knew he would. One by one the animals quieted and sniffed or pawed at the dead as the children joined the circle around Gordon and Harper.

  “Don’t hurt her, Gordon.” Kodiak said when the injured boys’ eyes finally rested on him. “We’ll let you go. We’ll trade your life for hers.”

  “Damn right you will,” he said. “Drop your weapons. All of them.”

  Gordon’s eyes danced madly. He loved the carnage. He reveled at the sight of the priceless paintings that were splashed with arterial spray and the shards of pottery from antique vases that littered the floor. He raged and rejoiced at the sight of his gang, dead and dying. So much blood, so much destruction! It was all because of him. He had caused it all. This was power! A voice in his head was screaming at him to pull the trigger. It urged him to paint the walls with Harper’s brains. To aim the gun at Swan and Kodiak. To blow their faces out of the backs of their heads. He had the power. He had the gun. It competed with the scratch, scratch, scratching sound that tried to drown out the new voice. It screamed in glee, it screamed in terror, it screamed from insanity. The voice that sounded like his old man harrumphed and silenced the others. Don’t be a fool. It said. You don’t have enough bullets to kill them all.

  His eyes darted from kid to kid. They were fanned out around him, flanked by their stinking animals but one by one they laid down their arms. Spears, hammers, axes and knives. Even the little kid slid their bandoleers of icepicks over their heads and dropped them to the floor. God, he hated them. His old man’s voice told him he didn’t have any options. He couldn’t win this one. He needed to step away from the table, walk away from the opposition with his life and destroy them later.

  “Pull your spike out of my shoulder,” he told Harper, and didn’t move the gun from her cheek as she worked it loose.

  He sucked air between his teeth and scrunched his eyes tight at the pain.

  “Now get up, slow and easy.” He growled.

  “Don’t you brats get any smart ideas,” he said as they stood. “I’m only half a sneeze from blowing her away.”

  He backed slowly away from the kids and the carnage, out the broken back doors and onto the patio. He had to think, had to get away from the smell of death and spilled guts. He needed fresh air. The children stepped over bodies and pieces of bodies. They tracked through the blood and even weaponless they frightened him. Painted faces and gore-soaked bodies advanced, even the smallest of them was splashed in blood and it dripped from her hands.

  “Let her go and you can leave. We won’t stop you.” Kodiak said. “You have my word.”

  “This is my house.” Gordon nearly screamed. “I’m not going anywhere. Your word is garbage, as soon as I turn my back, you’d sic your animals on me.”

  He calmed himself and jerked Harper closer. “No. I’m staying right here. You’re leaving.”

  They were unarmed and ten feet away, he was getting some of his confidence back. They couldn’t do anything; he had the power. He gave the orders.

  “Fine.” Kodiak said “Give us Harper and we’ll leave.”

  Gordon swung the gun towards the boy he hated so much. He could shoot him, he really could and then get the gun back on her before they charged him. They’d stop. They could talk some more and he’d do it again, this time Swan. He smiled at them.

  “I make the rules here Mr. High and Mighty. Not you. Now get on your knees. Beg for her life if you want it so bad.”

  When Kodiak hesitated, he whipped the gun around, slammed it viciously against her head and she cried out. A snort shattered the silence above them and Gordon looked up. Bert had been reaching his long neck over the fence to pull the tender leaves from one of the potted trees when he heard his mistress. He remembered the boy who tormented him and swung his head at him. He was hurting his human.

  Gordon shrieked and threw up his hands to protect his face. Bert smashed into him, sent him flying and they all heard the crunch of bones. The gun flew out of his hand and he crashed into the patio table, tumbling it over. He moaned in agony, tried to get to his feet but fell over the umbrella. When he looked up again, spears were inches from his face and he froze, eyes wild and searching for his gun. Harper stroked Bert’s long j
aw as he sniffed her, ran a sticky, wet tongue through her hair then went back to his leaves.

  “What do we do with him?” Vanessa asked, her spear ready to thrust, her hands willing but her heart was hesitant. The enemy was beaten, broken and unarmed. It wasn’t an honorable kill.

  Swan crouched to his level, stared into his frightened eyes.

  “Let the wolves have him,” she whispered. “He was going to turn his dogs loose on me.”

  Gordon cradled his broken arms and pushed backwards to get away from the bloody black faced girl.

  “Make him walk the plank.” A voice came from behind them.

  They whirled on the women picking their way through the destroyed house and cooling corpses. They all looked like they might throw up and worked hard not to look down and not to trip.

  Zero growled, the cubs joined in and Yewan crouched to pounce.

  “It’s okay.” Swan said as Misty and the other two joined them on the patio. “She helped me.”

  Calming hands quieted the animals as they stared down at the boy who had caused them so much pain and heartache.

  “What’s walking the plank mean?” Landon asked.

  Misty pointed at the diving board and the pool half full of milling undead.

  “No, you can’t.” Gordon said and tried to get to his feet. “You can’t, it’s not fair.”

  Swan laughed and pulled the knives from her behind her back.

  “I think it’s very fair,” she said, her voice bitter with hate. “I’ll gut you like a fish then toss you in, it doesn’t matter to me Gordy. Either way you take the walk.”

  “Noooo,” he said, and tried to back away, but more sharp blades poked at him, Donny’s spear joined Vanessa’s and urged him to the edge.