Zomblog: Snoe's Journey

by Brown, TW

  “Do you wish to save your people or those two?” Angel finally spun on me when I began to make more than just a little fuss.

  “Hmm,” I buzzed through pursed lips. “BOTH!”

  “I am sorry, Snoe,” Angel said. And to her credit, she did look truly apologetic. “We do not have the time to try and place these children. That army is just ahead, and we need to meet up with the people Erik has waiting for us. We also must get your own people coordinated and prepared to meet this General Carson on a field of our choosing, not his. One of the first steps is to wipe out all of the tendrils that he has spread out across this land.”

  I knew what she was saying, and in my brain, I also knew that these two lives could not be weighed against the hundreds, perhaps even thousands. That did not mean that I could just leave them to the fates.

  “I will not be a part of murdering two children,” I snapped in anger.

  Looking back, I realize that I was being a bit overdramatic. Children of this age are taught very early on how to care for themselves. That does not mean that they are equipped to do so, but it was not like we were actually killing them; just greatly reducing their chance of survival.

  After a considerable amount of yelling, Angel agreed to send one of her men with these children. There was a village (according to her) about two days south from here. This was where I was going to have to trust her at her word. She would not let me accompany them, and if I left, she threatened to simply ride back to the Confederated Tribal lands and tell them that I slipped away in the night.

  I told the children that they would be okay and I was more than a little surprised when one of Angel’s men knelt beside the injured baby and applied this mixture of stuff that smelt like sour mud and almost rotten veggies. He said it was a poultice that would help draw out the infection. Who was I to argue?

  We resumed our trek and began to see signs of an army on the move. By the time we made camp, we also saw that this much activity was not going unnoticed by the undead. Zombies were in the wake of this army, and they didn’t have a side…they ate whoever was closest.

  Just after I had climbed up into my hammock, three dozen more Natives arrived at our camp. I had to climb back down to hear all that was being said, but it seems that the people on my side are definitely doing their part to prepare for war.

  According to reports and a very unflattering description that removed any doubt as to who they were talking about, Betty has sent riders in every direction and has even gone to the rails to spread the word. She is making it known that a militant faction from the east (I thought it was interesting the things she omitted…like who started this uprising and the fact that some form of government has been trying to congeal in the mountains of Colorado in some defunct Old World military center) was coming to try and subjugate every tribe, community and independent settler they could find.

  I had to wonder how this message was being received. I can only attest to the tribal communities and the Corridor settlements that I grew up around. I am not sure if her message would be laughed at or taken seriously.

  I wondered if this was how wars used to be fought. I know from what I learned in History class that it had become too easy over time. War had become impersonal, which was probably why there was so much of it.

  Some of the people old enough to remember said that the news was always full of stories about battles and attacks taking place. Supposedly, there were even attacks on just regular people. I think I heard the phrase “nine-eleven” about a million times before I ever asked about it. Hearing the story, I just can’t wrap my head around what happened on that day.

  I do know that one thing a lot of the old-timers mention is that it took the walking dead to bring peace to the Middle East. Since I really don’t know what that means other than supposedly they had been in a fight that lasted thousands of years, I can simply assume that is a big deal.

  However, we are now on the brink of what I must consider our first real war. Sure, we have had skirmishes with some of the tribes over the years. And then there are the raiders who come along and try their luck. But over the last few years, nothing had really happened. It looked like things were going to settle down and start to fully heal.

  Maybe that is the problem. Maybe folks forgot how hard it was to get to this place we had managed to reach. Maybe there is always somebody who just has to have ‘a little bit more’. My hope is that we will end this once and for all.

  That thought raises doubts. Can we ever be free of that sort of thinking? When we defeat this General Carson, won’t there just be something new to pop up?

  Maybe it is the Native Americans who have it right. They simply turned their back on everything and decided to carve out a life for themselves.

  And what about after this war? What then?

  Chapter 3

  Monday, August 1st

  If this does not succeed, I will at least die knowing that I gave it everything I had. My only question is that, if this does succeed, what will the cost be to my soul and the souls of the others who take part in this fight?

  My choices are three. First: I can simply forget all of this and ride back to the Confederated Tribes and live my life. I really do not believe that a force could simply come in and take that land. Second: I can gather everybody and say that it is in our best interest to surrender. No matter what, somebody has to be in charge. There must be rules. We can’t live in chaos and anarchy. Third: Fight.

  Obviously, I have chosen the third. And after the events of the past few days, there is no going back.

  It seemed that I awoke each morning to find more of the Native Americans had joined us in the night. Also, as we rode through the day, they seemed to melt out of the trees and surrounding countryside. I have no idea how it happened, but eventually there was over five hundred of us.

  When we caught up with that group of soldiers, I realized just how big of an army we had become. As a whole, we stopped in this huge open area. It looked to have been a giant stadium of some sort. We did not enter the structure, but instead formed up in one of the huge clearings that surround these sorts of things.

  My mind still reels at the idea that structures this large were needed to allow people to sit and watch others play a game. You could take every single person and probably even all of the tribes for a ten mile radius of Corridor 26 and not even fill half of one of those stadiums. And to think that there were hundreds of these things around just this country, and that they would fill up every weekend?

  Anyways, Angel climbed up on top of a rusting old bus so that all those gathered around could see her. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was gesturing to me, insisting that I join her. When I did, and I looked out at all those faces, I got a chill. They were looking at me, but they weren’t seeing me…they were seeing some sort of symbol…a totem is the word I believe that they use.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Angel began, and that is when I realized that at least a quarter of this group were women, “we are entering the Seventh Generation. I have seen the mark with my own eyes, and if we had time, I would invite each of you to see for yourselves. We do not have that luxury.

  “On the other side of this dead city is an army. They seek to join up with one that is even larger in order to subject all they find to their will. Some of you may believe that this is not your fight. Some of you may believe that this is the problem of the wasicu…the white man. I tell you that if we do nothing, then we shall eventually see history fold over on itself and be repeated.

  “Our forefathers believed that the white man would eventually stop taking. You all know where that ended. And while we have claimed a new land for ourselves, how long do we wait before this General Carson comes to our gates?

  “There are many who believe that we would simply trade one enemy for another, but I have seen for myself that the white man can change…the white man can live in peace. We have been speaking the prayer and have perhaps missed the meaning of Mitakuye Oyasin. We have alwa
ys used it to include only our Native brothers and sisters. Perhaps it needs to include all those who would allow the spirits of healing to cleanse this world and restore its beauty.

  “This child,” Angel finally acknowledged my presence at her side, “has lived with the white man all of her life. Her father Samuel Todd is no stranger to you. You have all read his words and those of the Elder Chief, Erik Greyfeather…”

  Wait! What?

  I won’t lie and tell you that little revelation did not rock me back just a little. He had made it seem like he was alone and not a part of that group of Elders that arrived. It seems that may only be partially true.

  “…about this Samuel Todd. He lived his entire life not aware of his true heritage, yet he lived a life that was humble and true to the spirit we honor. Many of you have been living among the white man these past several years. Those who discovered malice and hatred and destruction sent word…and those settlements were dealt with accordingly. Yet, there have been others who have shown that we cannot judge all the same. It is those very people that we come to help now.

  “It is those people who may well be the very same ones we need to call upon in our time of need. This is a New World. The time has come for us to claim our place as protectors and guardians of it, and see that the beauty can shine once more as it did for our ancestors.”

  I have to admit, most of what she said, I was not sure if she was being nice, or being kinda snotty. It almost sounded like she was asking for some lowly scrub to be allowed to join their little club. That could just be my fatigue talking, though. We had ridden pretty hard the last few days.

  So once that was over, we all just stood there. Finally, Angel gave me a nudge.

  “What?” I asked, trying not to move my lips.

  “Tell them why they need to put their lives on the line. Tell them why they need to go into a fight that is not really theirs.”

  Now I was really lost. What could I tell these people? Heck, I had a difficult enough time talking to people that I knew when it came to this stuff. Why was every group or person that I met so insistent that I had something to say worth hearing?

  Eventually, I turned out and looked at the faces peering back at me. It was a few seconds into it when it hit me like a bolt out of the blue. Okay, these people were Native Americans, but for the most part…how could you tell? Sure, there were those with the darker features, black hair, and dark eyes. But more of them just looked like…anybody.

  “You have absolutely no reason to do this,” I said. “I say this knowing what it feels like to take the life of another living, breathing human being. It does not matter if it is an enemy…and it did not matter what terrible things this person did to those I love. It did not matter if they were simply strangers bent on doing harm to those I knew and loved, or if they were attacking people I had never met and would never see again. The act of killing another will weigh on you…probably forever.

  “And that is exactly what I will be asking each of you to do. I will be asking you to choose a side…then, to take the lives of others.

  “I ask this with no promise that those you protect may not turn and do you harm someday. All I can hope is that, by helping these people, a gap will be bridged.

  “For as long as I have lived, you, the Native Americans, have been seen as this distant group that cares for nothing or nobody except yourselves. We have traded with you out of necessity, and out of the idea that, if we work with you, we will not have to fear attacks from you. Despite your borders having always been closed to those who are not of Native American blood, places like my home, Corridor 26, have been open to you. We have always accepted people who came in peace and wanted to be a part of the community.

  “I know that I am supposedly one of you. But my life has been spent as one who you deemed an outsider. If I were to have walked to your fences just a few months ago, you would have denied me entrance based on what you perceived.

  “I say to you that, despite anything else, we are people…human beings…first and foremost. If we do not come together, then we will certainly perish alone.

  “I do not ask you to fight for strangers, instead, I ask you to fight for a future. Sadly, it will only be through fighting…through violence…that we can hope to bring any sort of peace.”

  When I finished, I felt tired all of a sudden. I looked back at the faces staring up at me and wondered if they even spoke English. The faces seemed to hold no emotion. My Mama Janie always said that hatred is not the worst thing to feel for another person, it is indifference. I suddenly feared that very emotion.

  It took me a moment to realize that Angel had climbed down. She walked to her horse, gave me a slight nod of her head, and began to ride in the direction that we knew this group of soldiers lay. I did the only thing I could think of, I scooted off the bus/stage and hopped on Mato.

  I was afraid to look over my shoulder. I could not hear a sound as I trotted my horse to catch up with Angel. It was probably about an hour before Angel veered her horse over next to mine and reached out to squeeze my hand before moving back up to take a spot in the lead of our single file line…that went on into the distance behind us!

  I could not be sure, but it looked like they had all fallen in with us. I had no idea what I said that worked…until one of the women came to me that night. She had written down everything that was said by me and Angel. She said that it would need to be passed on if this day proved to be the start of something that would shape the ways of the Seventh Generation.

  I am making myself a promise right now to learn everything there is to know about this Seventh Generation thingy as soon as this is over. I guess I should do that much considering.

  So, we rode on through the morning until we actually began to see a haze up ahead in the distance from their horses kicking up dust. Funny, I looked back to my long line of riders and did not see hardly a thing in our wake.

  We rode for maybe another hour before Angel signaled that we should stop. About twenty riders came up from various (and seemingly random in my eyes) locations along the line. They gathered in a half-circle, grim-faced and determined.

  The gist of it was that she had our group split into three parts. One part would move ahead from each side and we would continue to come up from behind. Once our group could make out actual people, we would urge our horses to about half speed. The hope was that the army ahead would notice us.

  Once they were committed to a fight with us, the other groups would come in from the sides at full speed and begin firing arrows. From then on…it was a matter of hoping that we would prevail.

  The one thing of concern was the wagon with the flame thrower. That would be tricky. A group of some of the best shots would be firing flaming arrows at that wagon, hoping that it would catch fire and explode.

  I felt my adrenaline begin to surge as we watched the two groups take off to either side. Once some signal was given, our own group began its slow charge.

  As the smudge on the horizon grew to a shadow, and then eventually a dark blob, I felt a bit nauseous. Before I knew it, the distinct shapes of men on horseback and on foot began to materialize out of that mess. It was almost predictable when somebody from their rearguard spotted us. You could see the cloud around them swirl as they wheeled to meet what they assumed was their main threat.

  To their credit, they kept a decent number back in reserve. This is where things start to get foggy. First, it should be noted here that those soldiers never made any attempt to hail us. They came at a charge and it was obviously meant to scare us before our forces slammed into each other on the field.

  “You should drop back a little,” Angel said over the pounding of hooves.

  “If I am to ask these people to follow me, then I need to be in front,” I shot back, not feeling nearly as brave as that statement made me sound (or look on paper for that matter).

  What followed next was even worse than the battle at Irony. The sounds of screaming horses add an entirely new horror to a
fight. I had no idea what to do, and that was something that I did not realize until the fight was on.

  I could not hope to use anything but a hand-to-hand weapon in this instance. That is a form of killing that takes a quick toll. Not just the emotional aspect of taking lives, but add in seeing somebody get their guts opened up on one side of you while another person loses their arm just above the elbow while you are planting your own blade in the side of somebody’s head.

  Mato knew more about what to do than I did, and he was very good at moving me away from danger. It was almost like that shaggy beast was trying to protect me. And that was the case until I was knocked from his back.

  If being in the midst of the battle was bad on horseback, it is a hundred times worse on foot. Suddenly, you can’t really see anything. You have horses rearing and stomping all around you. There are bodies sprawled on the ground. I passed by one man who was trying in absolute futility to stuff his insides back into the slit in his belly.

  It was also right about then that the arrows went whizzing by just about a foot or two above my head. Our attackers were now caught in our trap.

  “Stay low and move to the edge of the fight!”

  I spun to find a man about my age looking at me through a mask of blood. I saw more than a couple of gashes on his body, so I was not entirely sure how much of that blood might be his.

  “What?” I asked this stupid question as all hell is breaking loose around me.

  “Stay low and run for the edge of the fight,” he urged, but this time he slipped past me and grabbed my hand.

  We ran, sometimes stopping suddenly as a handful of horses would slam into each other with people from both sides yelling, cursing, screaming, and even crying. Eventually, it actually began to thin out as we reached the edge of the main fighting.