Tribes Of Decay (The Decaying World Saga Book 1)

by Michael W. Garza

  “If we’re going to act like we’re all a part of the same tribe,” Asher said, “then we have to make decisions in that manner.” The frustration in his voice was easy to hear. “If they want to stay here and die in their ignorance, then so be it.”

  The remark was particularly harsh for Asher, but Mia knew the aggravation was still holding on from the meeting. He had a calming effect on her and it humored her to see him out of sorts. She grinned to herself.

  “I didn’t mean that,” he said, correcting himself. “We’ll do our part to show them that they can’t survive here alone. If we could just get access to the generators.”

  “We still have time,” she reminded him. “We’ll hold on as long as we can.” The familiar response was growing more difficult to use by the day. In truth life within the underground society was difficult. Mia and the other survivors from the various tribes went topside often to remind themselves that they could. She longed to return to the life she had before her tribe’s home, high on the rooftops in Cheyenne, were overrun by the infected and her people marched off to be fed upon like cattle. “Most of the groups have already begun preparing to leave.”

  They reached the end of the hall and were met with the dancing glow of another light headed in their direction from around the bend ahead. The subtle sound of conversation followed the light and the moment they made the turn, the wider passage came alive. Open doorways lined either side running the length of the corridor. The main housing area of hive one was packed to capacity.

  Cot-filled open bays buzzed with the sound of afternoon conversation. Natural light flooded the farthest end of the hall from a crater in the ceiling in the room beyond. The crater and more importantly the inoperative boundary doors at the end of the hall were a constant reminder that Canaan could not be secured without power. There were a number of similar openings to the surface throughout the ground floor, all of them easy entry points for the infected and the horde of undead they were leading directly toward Canaan.

  “Do you have any rations left for the day?” Asher asked as they reached the entrance to Mia’s shared quarters. “I have plenty left over if you want to share.”

  Mia came to a stop and they found themselves in the center of the hall standing close to one another.

  “I couldn’t,” she said.

  “No, I insist,” Asher said. “You worry enough as it is. You won’t do us any good if you don’t have your strength.”

  Mia was about to give in when her eyes drifted over his shoulder into the wide room behind him. Asher’s neatly made cot was closest to the door and it stood a stark contrast to the disheveled cot setting across from it. The mess belonged to Rowan and the view reminded Mia that she wanted to know where in the hell he was.

  “I’m sorry,” she said refocusing on Asher. “I’m not feeling that well. I think I need to get some fresh air.”

  Asher pursed his lips. Mia could practically read his thoughts. She guessed he was deciding if he should push the idea any further. Mia let him off the hook.

  “I’ll take some time to myself,” she said. “It should help me clear my head.”

  Asher smiled. He nodded as he kept his grin then offered a slight wave before turning and heading toward his cot.

  Mia breathed a sigh of relief. She was finding it increasingly difficult to turn Asher away. She wasn’t sure if she should be mad at herself or not. She decided to try to focus on more important issues. Mia glanced at the flurry of movement in the female quarters, before heading for the far end of the hall. She could feel the cold air drifting past her face when a familiar voice called after her.

  “You shouldn’t go up there alone.”

  “Will you come with me?” Mia asked as she turned and reached a hand out for Sara. “I think the air will do us both some good.”

  The elderly tribal woman was wrapped up tight in a familiar handmade shawl. The patchwork wrap was a reminder of the harsh existence she’d endured at the hands of Canaan’s commission prior to their liberation by Mia, Rowan and many others. The shawl looked like it might fall apart at any moment. Mia offered her arm to Sara as the two passed through the archway and out into the open. The duo made their way up the mounds of rock and chunks of the ceiling that acted as a makeshift stairway.

  The snow painted a pristine picture, covering the surrounding hills in a blanket of white. Mia tried not to think of the destruction and death hidden beneath the blanket. The two women took in the scene in silence. Mia’s mind shifted back to Rowan when Sara spoke up.

  “I don’t see any other way around this.”

  Mia knew at once, where the conversation was going.

  “We can’t make them do anything,” she said. “We’re not even the majority.”

  Mia’s position within Canaan’s tribal council represented the people of hive one. Sara held the same position. Mia’s status as the heroine that helped to free all of the slave workers and end the reign of the commission that gave her significant influence over the others. She’d begun to loathe her distinction as a savior.

  Mia’s sway, however much power it offered did not change the fact that hive one was the smallest of all the surviving hives. Most of the lower levels within the hive were unreachable and for all anyone knew, everyone buried beneath the third floor was dead. A majority of the levels of hives two and four survived the compound’s security system detonation and their surviving population was significantly higher. Hive three didn’t have housing units and it wasn’t until the safe sector’s rediscovery that they were included in Canaan’s total count.

  There were fewer people in the safe sector than any of the other hives but they didn’t need the other hives to survive. The safe sector had working electricity and at least a backup supply of rations. They were also armed and they had the ability to shut themselves off from the outside world. If the horde did invade Canaan, the safe sector could protect themselves without much concern for the rest of the tribe.

  “You can help them see the good sense in leaving now while we still can.”

  Mia bit her lip. She was in favor of relocating to the city of Cheyenne and in particular the old gardens. Mia longed to look upon the city she once called home, but the scout teams had confirmed the infected invasion that forced the Cheyenne tribe out of the city was far from over. She didn’t know what to do.

  “Asher’s sure he can get the generators on if we can reach them,” Mia said.

  “And how do we guarantee there’s enough time for that?”

  Mia didn’t answer. She’d already considered it more times than she could count. She decided to try to let it go for the moment. There would be more than enough debating in the days ahead. Instead, she wrapped her arm around Sara and pulled her close.

  Mia needed to let her guard down, there was still only one person she could truly do that with, and once again she wondered where in the hell he was.

  3

  The quiet had a way of making the wind feel colder. Rowan felt a sting on his cheeks. He’d been out too long and he knew it. The problem was that he had no desire to start the long trek back to Canaan. A shortage of rations had become a problem. Rowan was convinced that a return to hunting for food was an obvious solution. A majority of the Canaan tribe disagreed.

  He never liked referring to them as a tribe. As far as Rowan was concerned his tribe, the Cheyenne tribe, died the night the infected invaded the rooftop home of his people. In truth, he was banned from the tribe by Mia’s father before the traumatic event, but he tried to ignore that part of the story. His aggravation with Mia’s place among the so called new tribe was something else he couldn’t let go.

  “Let’s go down there.”

  The whispered words were the first from anyone in the small group following Rowan in quite some time. He was impressed that they’d kept quiet for so long. He was down on one knee looking out over a sparse group of buildings in the valley below them. The stillness made Rowan uneasy, but he had to be sure.

  “Alwa
ys give them time,” Rowan said, turning to look back at the wide-eyed faces behind him. “The dead can sit still for a long time, the infected not so much.”

  “Do we have to head back?” Jonah asked.

  He was the youngest of the group at only ten, but he longed to be a leader among them. The other four already had their place in the troop. Bale was the oldest by five years and as solid as an oak tree. Tate was closest to Jonah. Gabriel was the only one among them born within the compound and Bree was the only girl. Rowan quietly believed she could get the better of all of them.

  “Not yet,” Rowan said looking up at the sun. “But we can’t risk getting caught out here after dark.”

  He’d spent the past several months working his way through the land around Canaan never knowing what awaited him each time he set out. Mia hated his excursions so he finally stopped telling her. His best guess told him that he was supposed to be doing something more important at the moment. Rowan’s real concern was making sure each member of his trailing pack all made it back in one piece. He took one last look down at the valley then grinned.

  “Let’s go.”

  ♦

  Closer inspection revealed there were far more buildings than Rowan counted. Most of the structures had fallen in on themselves, none of them more than a few stories tall. He pointed out directions, working through a series of hand signals he’d learned as a child, attempting to pass them on to the next generation. The formation ended in a line, pressed up against the cold exterior of a building away from the largest cluster of structures. Rowan was hopeful they would spot some game hidden within the decaying shells, using them as shelter.

  They moved forward on Rowan’s command, sweeping across the front of the building. Each of them had a bow, a few more skilled than the others. Rowan shied away from the guns the tribe took in as they rediscovered droves of weapons left behind in Canaan. He preferred the weapons of his former people and Jonah followed his example.

  Rowan peered through the front broken windowpanes at a long abandoned front room. He couldn’t imagine it ever being the centerpiece of a family home. The floor was covered in snow, the drift covering scattered pieces of ruined furniture. There were no signs of tracks and the discovery helped to calm his nerves. He led them in and the small group gathered around him inside the front door.

  “There’s not much here,” Bree said, her eyes on the buildings on the far side of the snow covered road. “Maybe we should start back.”

  Rowan considered it. Bree was cautious but by no means a coward. He found himself in a constant struggle between a need to protect the young group and a desire to stay away from Canaan. He looked to the others for confirmation.

  “We still have time,” Jonah said. “Let’s at least have a look around before we head back.”

  Rowan took another look at the sky. He guessed they had the time for a quick search of the area, but not much more. He started to give directions when something caught his eye.

  “What is that?” He pulled at Jonah’s coat to get a better look at the hand drawn symbol on his shoulder. The centerpiece was an open mouth skull, backed by two crossing arrows.

  Jonah smiled sheepishly.

  “It’s our symbol,” he said.

  “Our, who?” Rowan asked.

  He found the symbol on Bree’s long coat and again on Gabriel’s before Jonah had a chance to respond. The other boys revealed theirs.

  “We’re the Knights of Rowan,” Bale said matter-a-factly.

  The sound of it made Rowan laugh. He swallowed his snicker once he realized none of the kids were smiling.

  “What do you have to do with my nights?” he asked.

  “Not that kind of night. They were protectors,” Tate said, “A long time ago, in the old world.”

  “Mia used to read me books about them,” Jonah said. “When we still had books.”

  Rowan could read, barely, but Mia had taken to it. They were given access to a wide assortment of books from the old world in the home of their former tribe before the infected took it all away. He wasn’t sure what to make of the group naming themselves, so he decided to let it be.

  “We’ll head for the buildings across the street,” he said then nodded to Bree, “but if we don’t find anything promising, we’ll head back.”

  He let Jonah lead them out. Bale was next, moving with an arrow notched and his bowstring up close to his face, ready to fire. The other three went next as a group and Rowan followed them across the street. He was halfway to their destination when a series of murmurs brought him to a sliding stop.

  Jonah and Bale were already leaning against the building, Jonah peeking around the corner. The other’s stopped before they reached the destination. Rowan broke off his straight line and headed for Jonah, waving Bree forward as he did. He took Jonah’s place and the moment he slid is eyes around the corner the sound of crunching steps in the snow echoed clearly between the two buildings.

  Rowan stepped forward, motioning for the others to stay where they were. He was near the front of the building when the sounds behind him said neither Jonah nor the rest of the newly christened Knights of Rowan followed his directions. His first glimpse of the open area beyond the buildings was a confusing picture. The row of structures he expected to see were replaced by a series of wide circular cuts in the ground surrounded by a tall fence. The odd scene kept him still and it wasn’t until Jonah shoved him from behind that he realized the footsteps were closing in on them from the opposite side of the building.

  “Spread out,” Rowan said. “Bree, take Gabriel and Tate and slide along the face of this building.” He tapped the exterior of the wall behind him. “We’ll go out wide in case they rush us.”

  The use of the word they heightened the tension of the situation. The moment they stepped out from their position the footsteps slowed then stopped. Rowan’s eyes were on the corner of the far end of the building. He tried to work through his options if a pack of the dead or worse a group of infected rushed out toward them. Silence covered the area and the stillness heightened the fear.

  Rowan drew his bowstring back until his hand touched his cheek. Bree was midway across the face of the building when the footsteps started forward again. Rowan nearly released his arrow when a fuzzy bunny leapt out into the open. It took him a moment to process what he was looking at. The sudden release of tension came out in a snort he couldn’t control. The kids broke into laughter and the burst of sound caused the rabbit to jump off in the direct it came.

  “I think we’ve reached our limit,” Rowan said between laughs. “There’s not much out here.”

  Bale chimed in with an astute inspiration.

  “We should’ve shot the rabbit.”

  He was right, but the effort wasn’t worth the time it would take to clean it. Rowan was content to end the hunt for the day. Chances were he’d need to get out of Canaan soon in order to avoid another one of the council’s meetings. There was also a good chance Jonah and the others would be itching to go with him.

  “All right, let’s head back.”

  He took one step before a new sound reached the opening between the buildings and the fence. The thud of footsteps were lost under a rising growl. Rowan took one more step before he spotted the crimson splotches of blood on the otherwise unblemished snow. The blood stains were lost under the first step of a decomposing foot as the dead pushed out into the open.

  “Get back.”

  Rowan was moving backwards, keeping his eyes and his bow trained on the growing crowd. The mob swelled until there were more zombies than anyone cared to count. Bree led Gabriel and Tate away from the front of the building, catching up with the others in the center of the street. Rowan stole a glance at his compatriots and found the faces of the Knights of Rowan full of panic.

  “Move around the far side of the next building and try and lead us out the way we came.”

  Nobody moved and he was forced to take his eyes off the advancing dead. He grabbed Jonah’s jack
et and made the boy look at him.

  “I need you to lead the way.”

  It took a moment for Jonah to blink out of his rattled haze. Rowan waited until he got a reassuring nod then pushed him off in the direction he wanted them to go. He was calling out orders when he reengaged with the advancing mob.

  “Bree and Bale stay close to me,” he shouted. “Gabriel and Tate keep up with Jonah.” He pulled his bowstring back as he took aim. “Make sure you can see one other at all times.”

  Bree fired first and Bale was right behind her. Both hit their mark, but neither took one of the walking dead down. The mob moved at a slow pace, most of them barely audible beyond a few feet. Their decomposing husks were in a terrible state of rot. Most of them were picked clean of the clothes from their former lives, exposing their skin to the elements. Purple and blue decorated most of their limbs, the bare tissue a withering black.

  “Save your arrows,” he ordered.

  He urged the others to turn and run, figuring they could easily outpace the dead once they got into the open. His calculation was interrupted the moment he spun around.

  “Rowan!”

  He heard Jonah’s cry, but couldn’t see him. Gabriel and Tate were stopped at the edge of a building, but Jonah had already rounded the corner. The two boys were backing away and the open air was met with a clear call of dead-speak carrying on the wind. Tate tried to fire an arrow at something between the buildings, but Gabriel staggered into him and the shot went straight up in the air. Rowan didn’t need to see what was coming.

  “Run. Run now,” he yelled. “Straight ahead.”

  Bree and Bale sprinted off ahead of him. They slowed down long enough to grab Gabriel and get him moving. Rowan forced Tate to go then took in the full view of what was pushing through the alley between the buildings. Jonah stood a few feet ahead of him firing the last of his arrows.

  The full sight of a pack of infected was enough to freeze a man’s heart. Jonah had seen more horrors in his young life than most, but even he had his limits. They were not truly dead, each with a heart still beating in their chest. It was the blood they craved over the flesh and the dark traversing veins beneath their graying skin showed the infection rushing through their bodies. Rowan counted five of them running toward him, each of them screaming, blaring out in their perverse tongue.