Her eyes snapped back from the moon, and a low whine escaped her throat. The calf, sated, had wandered away from her mother. Behind her, the boy made a strangled noise in his throat. She turned, gnashed her teeth and growled. The thin, skeletal boy fell back, hungry but frightened. She could feel his fear. It fed her, tempted her to taste him, but he was no food for her. She knew that much. It was a sort of instinct... drive... something inside of her. The boy was not her food. The boy was not her sustenance. He was one of her own. Corrupted. And corrupted flesh could not feed and sustain itself on corrupted flesh. Fresh flesh was needed, live flesh. Fresh human flesh, she corrected.
The boy trembled and grinned sickly, his one good eye rolling in his head. The other eye was a ruined mass of gray pulp sagging from the socket. A great flap of skin below that socket had curled and dried, hanging from the cheek. He felt at it now, carefully, with his shrunken fingers. She hissed at him and his hands fell away. She turned her attention back to the wandering calf that was nosing ever closer to the edge of the trees.
She desired human flesh. She needed it, but it didn't absolutely have to be that way.
Two nights ago it had been a rabbit. The night before that she and the boy had shared a rat. The night before that they had come upon the old woman. She thought about the old woman as the calf wandered ever closer to the line of trees.
The old woman had been good. They had brought her back here and her bones lay here still, in the weeds at the edge of the clearing behind her. She turned and gazed back past the boy into their makeshift campsite, searching for the what was left of the old woman, finding her bones where they lay at the edge of the clearing they had made. She turned back to the field, watching the calf as she remembered the old woman...
~The old woman in the ditch~
They had come across the old woman at near morning. Near morning was the best she could do. Time was not a real concern to her anymore. The concept held no meaning. She understood near morning because the sickness, the sickness that began to send the searing pain through her body, had started. The boy had already been whining low in his throat for an hour in pain. It was like that whenever the night began to end, when the morning was on the way, soon to be.
She remembered sunlight. Her old self had needed sunlight just as she now needed darkness, absence of light. That had been Donita as well, but a different Donita.
They had been crossing the rock filled ditch to get to an old house on the other side. The basement of the house was what she had in mind. Quiet, private, darkness. She had been scrambling down the steep, sandy side when the scent had found her eyes and froze her brain.
That is the way she thought of it. Frozen. Everything... everything besides that smell of flesh was frozen out. The boy's whining, the coming dawn, the constant hunger in her belly, the moon silvery and bright so far up in the night sky, nothing got by that desire. Urge. Drive. It consumed her, and it had then.
It had touched her eyes and then seeped into her brain; then it had spread out into her body. Her legs had stopped moving and she had nearly tumbled all the way to the bottom of the rock strewn ditch before she had caught herself, her head already twisted in the direction of the smell. Her ears pricked, her tongue licking at her peeled, dead lips.
She could smell the old woman. Knew that she was an old woman. It was in the smell. Somehow it was in the smell. And her flesh. And her fear. The boy had slammed into her then, still whining, and nearly knocked her to the ground.
She had come up from that near fall in a crouch, and the boy had slammed into her once more, so she had grabbed him to steady him. He had thought she meant to kill him and had pulled away, but a second later he had caught the scent and they had both gone tearing down the ditch.
~The Old Woman~
The old woman had heard them coming. She had begun to whine herself, replacing the boy's whining which had turned to a low growl. The panic had built in her as she heard them coming. Her heart pounded, leapt, slammed against her ribs, bringing pain with it. The pain rebounded and shot down into her broken leg, the leg that she had broken the day before trying to scramble down into this ditch to reach the house across what was left of the highway so she would have a safe place to stay. The pain slammed into her leg, and she cried aloud involuntarily. A split second later, the female slammed into her.
She had been on her belly. The pain was less that way. When the female hit her, she drove her over onto her back. A second after that, she was ripping at her flesh, biting, feeding and she could not fight her. She was too strong, too..... animal strong. And then the boy hit her hard, pouncing on her chest, driving the air from her lungs, and before she could even react, catch her breath back, he was biting at her throat.
She felt the pulse of blood as he bit into her jugular, and it sprayed across his face. She felt it go, felt her consciousness drop by half, her eyelids flutter, flutter, flutter and then close completely. And the biting was far away, and then it was gone.
~The Feasting~
The boy had her throat, but Donita had been biting her way into her chest. She had felt her heart beating, and she had been gnawing against her ribs when she felt it stop. They had both calmed then, loosening the grips they had on her, and settling down to feed.
~
She glanced now at the calf that was less than three feet from them, its huge moon eyes staring curiously at them. The calf did not know death, had not seen it, she thought. It knew its mother's tit, the sweet grass of the spring field, the warmth of the sun and nothing else. It edged a little closer.
~
She had killed the old woman. She had no use for her at all. They had eaten so much of her flesh, that she was useless to them. Couldn't sit up all the way. The boy had taken one arm off at the shoulder and carried it away like a prize.
Donita had eaten so much that she had vomited, but that had only forced her back to feeding until she was once again filled. She had looked around the ditch and spied the rock. The old woman had come back already, and she was trying to raise herself from the ground, trying to raise herself and walk once more. She had picked the rock up from the ditch. A big rock, but she was powerful, and she had smashed the old woman's skull in as she had tried to bite at her. They had dragged her into the woods a little farther down the road, this place where they still were.
~
She turned again to the calf. The calf was not what she wanted, but the calf would have to do for now. She let her hand fall upon the boys thigh and they both sprang at the calf.
The calf did not have the time to react. It did not even bawl. One second it was standing, and the next it was on its side, Donita's teeth clamped tightly across its throat. A second after that, it was sliding across the dew wet grass and into the woods, one wild eye rolling and reflecting the silver of the waning moon, as Donita and the boy dragged her into the trees.
CHAPTER TWO
Strangers And Friends
~ March 27th ~
Smoke from the many fires hung close to the ground mixing with a heavy mist that had risen off the nearby river and painting the fields white into the far treeline. As the sun touched the edge of the horizon, soft red-gold light began to flood into the world, reflecting off the ground mist, lighting it from within
Mike could feel the heat on his face as he sat drinking coffee with Kate, Tim, Ronnie and Patty. Bob and Janet sat close by. The rest of the camp was up and waiting with them.
Janet had organized some helpers, and a breakfast that included cold meat from the evening meal, oatmeal cooked in a huge pot she had salvaged from somewhere, and something that was a cross between a biscuit and a pancake. She was cooking on a large rectangular cast iron grill that Mike and Ronnie had taken from one of the fast food restaurants and set up for her. The resulting thick pancakes, or thin biscuits, depending on your viewpoint, could be used to make sandwiches of the cold meat or drowned with honey or Maple syrup from one of the nearby stores. Mike had tried it both ways and some of the oatmeal
as well. He had eaten two thick sandwiches. He couldn't remember any time in his life where he had consistently eaten the way he did now. His body just seemed to crave and use more calories than it ever had.
As he looked around, he realized he wasn't the only one. Everyone seemed to be able to put the food away, yet everyone seemed to be thinning down, dropping the excess weight they had once carried. He himself had noticed that the few extra pounds he had once carried were gone. His stomach had not been as flat as it was now since junior high school. Maybe not even then, he admitted to himself. He sipped at his coffee and watched the sun rise across the fields, burning the mist away as it rose.
Jeff Simmons had called on the radio some fifteen minutes earlier to let them know his party was on the way. The whole camp was waiting, including Brian and Janelle. Even Tom, Bob, Molly and Nell who had had their day all planned out were hanging around, waiting for the newcomers to come into camp. It seemed everyone had changed their plans to wait.
“You waiting also?” Mike had asked Brian as he wandered by him.
He nodded solemnly. “I want to see the new kids.”
“Might not be any new kids,” Mike told him.
“Oh,” Brian said. He looked worried for a few seconds. “Nellie said there would.”
Nellie meant Janelle, his constant companion, one year older. Looked like she was a God to him, because she knew so many things that Brian didn't.
“Well, if Nellie says so,” Mike allowed.
Brian nodded. “She's really smart.”
“She is. Most girls are,” Mike said seriously.
“All of us are,” Kate said leaning in. She planted a kiss on his cheek, making Brian giggle.
The Dog wandered by looking for handouts. He seemed a little put out that he wasn't getting all the handouts he felt he deserved. He stopped in his wandering, looked towards the interstate, stiffened his posture, and gave a little woof. He turned and looked at Mike, his lower lip pulled back slightly from his bottom teeth, his head tilted at an angle as if to ask, Did you hear that?
Mike patted his leg. The Dog wagged his tail, came over to Mike, allowed his hand to fall on his back and scratch there, but kept his attention focused on the highway in the near distance. Mike scratched him under the chin too, patted his head and told him he was a good dog. He woofed once more and then sat down, content to wait along with everyone else.
A few minutes later the sounds of the vehicles came to Mike's ears as well. The Dog's ears were perked now, his body tense with excitement.
“Good dog,” Mike said and patted his head once more. “Well,” he said to the others close by, “Looks like our company is almost here.”
A half minute later, three Hummers came into view running on the side of the interstate. Mike raised his radio from his side. “That's you then, Jeff?”
The lead Hummer flashed its lights and then set off on a diagonal across the field headed for the small complex of buildings where Mike and the others waited.
“It is, Mike,” Jeff answered. His voice was loud and clear from the radio's small speaker, seeming to jump out into the air.
~
The Hummers pulled up onto a broken section of pavement that fronted what was left of the diner and shut down. Bob, Ronnie, Patty and several others walked across to the Hummers as they rolled to a stop.
Mike stood, brushed imaginary dust from the front of his jeans and then pulled Kate to her feet. He stooped down, picked up Brian and settled him onto his shoulders. The Dog followed them as they walked over, completely unlike his usual exuberant self. He stayed at Mike's side taking small, measured steps to match his speed.
Mike looked around him. Everyone was carrying a weapon in their holster, over their shoulder or both. No one was really expecting trouble, but after the past few weeks no one was taking any chances. Even Janet Dove, who had never handled a gun, wore a shoulder holster with what looked like a huge rubber gripped forty four Magnum pistol, something straight out of a Hollywood movie, flat beige camouflage paint, black rubber grips and a heavy duty nylon webbed holster. She wore a smile on her face, maybe to offset the pistol, Mike thought.
The front drivers door of the lead Hummer opened and a large red-haired man stepped out onto the cracked and buckled pavement. The other doors opened and the rest of the party began to climb out.
“Jeff,” Mike asked?
“Mike,” Jeff Simmons responded with a smile. They both nodded and then shook hands heartily.
A tall woman, almost as large as Jeff himself stepped next to him. “This is my woman, Shar... Sharon,” Jeff said.
Patty, Kate and Janet Dove stepped forward.
Sharon smiled and took their offered hands, “Shar... To pretty much everyone,” She said.
It took a few minutes to introduce everyone, and then they made their way to the tables. There were three small children, about the same age as Janelle and Brian, accompanied by an older woman. She took a seat next to Lilly where she had settled Janelle and Brian to keep the two smaller children out of the way.
“Who is you?” a blonde haired little boy asked Lilly. “I'm Ben,” he smiled.
Lilly smiled back, “I'm Lilly,” she told him. “This is Brian, and this is Janelle.”
The little boy looked suspiciously at Janelle. Probably at the age where he didn't quite trust little girls yet, Lilly thought. He smiled shyly at Brian.
“I'm Jessica, Lilly,” the older woman told Lilly. She turned to the other two children who were trying to hide behind her. “And this is Mark, and this little lady is Rain.
Lilly smiled. “Hello, Mark. Hello, Rain. Rain is such a pretty name.”
“My mom told it to me,” The little girl said seriously. She fixed her eyes on Janelle. “I got some dolls. You got some?”
Janelle turned and pointed at the store behind her. “I got some. I got a lot. Are you going to live with us?”
Rain shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know 'cause nobody told me, 'cause I'm just a kid.”
Janelle solemnly nodded her head.
Rain got up, crossed the short distance, climbed up on the seat next to Janelle and sat down.
The other couple from the third Hummer had made their way over to the table. They were young, possibly younger than Lilly, Mike thought. He reminded himself how much everything had changed though, how mature eighteen was now, how actual age didn't have as much to do with life as it once had.
As Mike shook hands, he realized he had been wrong. David, the young man, was certainly Lilly's age, maybe a year or two older. But the woman, Arlene, was much older. Maybe in her early thirties. Again he reminded himself that it didn't matter. Even so, it reminded him of Lilly and Tom. Lilly came over, Tom with her, and the two couples seemed to hit it off immediately.
The entire camp was bubbling over with conversation. Janet Dove, Patty, Tim and Annie began serving breakfast to the newcomers. The hum of conversation dropped lower as the camp began to settle down to eat.
~The Dog~
The Dog sniffed along the edge of the tree line. He had wandered away from the camp, attracted by the smell of the cows. It was the most wonderful scent he had ever smelled. He had already found two pilings of dropping and rolled in them. It was good. Like heaven, he thought.
But the scent he was following now was even more intoxicating. It was the smell of something dead, but he didn't see it that way. He classified scents in an entirely different way. It was the best scent in the entire world. Two seconds from now, another scent might come along and transplant that scent, but for now, it was the top.
He stopped and peered off into the gloom of the trees. Something had moved in the shadows, and a soft warning growl began in his chest and quickly built. Deep, bassy, rolling out of his small frame.
The thing in the shadows moved again, and its head seemed to cock to one side, the eyes focused on The Dog through the gloom of the shadows. A higher growl, more like a subdued snarl reached the dog's ears. He stopped his own growl momen
tarily to listen, but his body posture changed. His legs stiffened. He crouched slightly, his neck lowered and his growl returned, rising to meet the pitch of the thing in the shadows.
'The thing... person... mother-father...?' he wondered. '...Master?' It stopped moving and seemed to be waiting to see what the dog would do.
Another dog yipped from somewhere out in the field, and he shot his head up quickly and looked in the direction the yip had come from, waiting to see if she would yip again.
She was a stray that had been hanging on the fringes of the camp. He had caught her scent the night before, and again earlier this morning. The yip said, Where are you? I am here... Come and play... I need you.
His head dropped back to the thing in the shadows for just a second, but it suddenly seemed far less interesting than it had been. The other dog yipped once more, louder, more insistent. And that yip said, If you're not coming I'm leaving... it said, I called you... it said, Why are you there? And it was too much. His head came back up, and he leapt away a second later, running through the winter blighted wheat of the field, following the other dog's scent on the air.
In the shadows, the boy settled back down. He had been tempted to go after the dog, even though Donita would have been.... would have been displeased, he decided. It was not displeased, but displeased was the best he could come up with. It seemed the longer he thought about a thing, the more abstract it became. He lowered himself back to the ground and pressed more tightly to Donita's cold flesh, taking comfort from it. She was like... like a mother, he decided. He could not precisely remember what a mother was, but he was pretty sure his thinking was correct.
He closed his eyes, and the darkness slipped over him. The small death... The respite from the living death... The place where the constant hunger did not drive everything. The smell of her death came through to him, and he spiraled down ever deeper.
~The Camp~
“I never thought of something like a Hummer, Jeff,” Mike said.
America The Dead (Book 2): The Road To Somewhere Page 3
