The Feral Children | Book 3 | Nomads

by Simpson, David A.

  “I know.” Lacy said. “And I know it’s not fair but if you go back, it won’t get any better. You’re the outsiders.”

  “I don’t want to go back anyway.” Tobias mumbled. “It was a waste of time.”

  “There are options.” Lacy continued. “There is home schooling or apprenticeship programs. You can start working and earning a living. We can get you into any career you want.”

  “We just wanted to be normal kids again.” Harper said. “We thought we could go back to like it was, like they did.”

  They talked for another half hour and told the grownups they’d figure it out. Donny was already working at Tommy’s shop, Harper wanted to be a nurse, Tobias and Analise wanted to be chefs, Kodiak a veterinarian, Vanessa wanted to finish school and Swan had just shrugged when they asked her. The grownups left and they told them they’d let them know tomorrow so arrangements could be made.

  Darkness fell and Cody started a fire to chase the chill as they sat around and discussed options. Nobody was very excited about their prospects. They hardly ever saw each other anymore except on weekends and a little at school. If they started jobs, they’d be just like the grownups. Work all day, take care of house when you got home, watch something on a DVD and fall asleep just to wake up and do it all over again. Life inside the walls was pretty much what it had been before the fall.

  “I’m going south.” Swan announced.

  “What do you mean?” Tobias asked. “South Dakota? South America? South Park?”

  She flicked an acorn at him.

  “South of here.” She said. “I’m going to check out that safari park in Texas. If they’re still caged, I’m going to set them free.”

  “That’s a long way.” Cody said. “It’ll take weeks.”

  “Yep.” She replied and stared into the flames. “Maybe months.”

  There was silence around the fire as they contemplated her words. They knew what they meant.

  When are you leaving? Donny signed.

  Swan looked up at the moon. It was almost full and the stars were twinkling brightly. No rain, no snow.

  “There’s no time like the present.” She said and stood.

  He nodded and looked at Analise. She smiled and he saw the answer in her eyes.

  Meet you at the front gate he signed, touched foreheads with Vanessa then slipped off into the darkness.

  The twins exchanged a look and an almost imperceptible nod. “Don’t leave without us.” Tobias said and they both hugged the dark girl then went inside to grab armor, weapons and saddlebags.

  “Are you going?” Vanessa asked to the two hunkered by the fire.

  “Yes, I think so.” Cody said and turned to Harper. “This isn’t the place I dreamed it would be. I think I expected too much.”

  “I think we all did.” She said. “It isn’t a bad town, most of the people are wonderful and I think it’s good for Landon and Caleb and Clara but not for us. They might be right, we were out there too long.”

  “Let me say goodbye to them.” She said. “I’ll be there.”

  She hugged Vanessa long and hard then she too disappeared.

  “We’ll miss you.” Cody said when he and Vanessa were alone with the fire. “But I would never ask you to come.”

  “I know.” She said.

  He stood, placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment then went to grab his own fresh new armor and weapons.

  43

  Lakota Left

  Kodiak stood tall and straight as Gunny approached him, Swan next to him. The rest of the tribe made final adjustments to their gear and checked straps on saddles as they waited for Harper, the last to arrive.

  “How did you know we were leaving?” Cody asked. “We didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “I’d gotten used to having Zero and the wolves underfoot.” Gunny said with a smile. “It’s easy to notice when they’re not there.”

  Zero padded forward at his name, insisted on an ear scratch from the man that smelled of tobacco and gunpowder.

  They wore their armor and had braided and adorned their hair again. Swan had painted her face and was eager to go. Kodiak slid his war hammer through a strap on Otis’ saddle. The big bear sniffed the ground where someone had left an intriguing scent. He chuffed and raked a paw over the spot.

  “We can figure something out.” Gunny said. “You don’t have to leave.”

  “I think we do.” Cody said. “Mrs. Meadows was right. We’ve been out in the wild too long. We like it out there. It seems right and natural. Being inside the walls has felt wrong ever since we got here.”

  Gunny knew he wasn’t going to change their minds and it didn’t even occur to him to try to stop them by force. These kids weren’t kids anymore. They were fifteen and sixteen years old. Kids that age were getting married and starting families in the Hutterite community. They’d done more and seen more than most of the people in the compound.

  Harper came out of the darkness leading Bert and the triplets followed. They were in their armor, had their weapons and the foxes trotted by their sides.

  Gunny opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off before he could protest.

  “They’re not coming.” She said. “They wanted to send us off properly. As warriors.”

  The goodbyes took a few minutes and they waved as the band of children and their companion animals ambled out of the walled city. The foxes whined, they wanted to join the caravan.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Gunny told the little ones and turned back towards the town.

  They were almost run over by Vanessa as she slid gracefully off Ziggy and wrapped them in an embrace.

  “Love you guys.” She yelled over her shoulder as she ran alongside her ostrich for a few steps then swung into the saddle.

  “Wait up!” she yelled and zipped through the gate as it closed. “I’m coming!”

  Epilogue

  The Prophet

  His body was covered in sores and bug bites. The stink coming off of him would turn a buzzard’s stomach. His filthy hair was long and wispy like his beard. His teeth were yellowed and his gums were infected. The undead didn’t know what to make of him in his rotting animal skins and the living shunned him as a lunatic.

  He was only seeking to spread his gospel of the Feral Children when he’d stumbled into the guard on watch. He was shoved roughly to his knees at the edge of the fire.

  “Caught this thing prowling around the perimeter. Thought it was one of the undead until I heard it humming a tune.” Rocky told his assembled crew. “Course, I don’t think even the zombies smell as bad as this one. Gimme another beer, David Lee.”

  They let out a round of laughter as Meeker shoved the Prophet flat on his face. He groaned and ran his tongue over the tooth he’d felt loosen and spit a glob of bloody saliva. This band of outlaws definitely needed to hear the good news. He’d been following the glow of their campfire for miles, eager to share the tale of the Feral Children and have them join his crusade.

  His preaching to the undead had not been well received. They would swarm towards him when he approached, like they were eager to hear his words but always stopped short. They stood there swaying listlessly or milling about but soon lost interest in what he had to tell them. He prayed for them anyway then continued his journey. He’d covered hundreds of miles since he’d taken up the cause. When he tired, he rested, often waking up with the undead within spitting distance. He no longer feared them; he only wished they were more receptive to his words.

  He pushed himself to his knees and spoke. “Brothers, if I may, I have a wonderful tale to tell you of fearsome warriors with gentle souls. It will lighten your burden and free your…”

  He doubled over from the kick in the guts delivered by the one called Meeker.

  “Shut up, filth.”

  The men laughed as he vomited from the blow.

  The Prophet pushed back up from the ground and drug a filthy hand across his mouth to wipe the drool from his wispy
mustache.

  “As I was saying.”

  Another kick to the midsection and he groaned and curled himself up into a ball.

  “Let the whack job talk, he came from somewhere and it might lead us to easy pickings.” David Lee said. “It’s boring as hell out here, might as well have a few laughs before we kill the poor bastard.”

  One of them grabbed his hair and drug him to his feet. “Speak your peace, freak.”

  The Prophet swayed unsteadily. He looked around for something to use as a pulpit. He settled for the stump of a tree at the edge of the campfire.

  He raised his hands towards the heavens. Someone flung a half empty beer can in his direction that barely missed his head.

  Distracted by the ranting of the Prophet the men hooted and hollered. They hurled insults at him as he tried to preach over their voices. The men never heard or saw the horde of undead as they swept through the camp, drawn by the shouting of the Prophet.

  The dead swarmed through the camp and fell on the group of outlaws. They flowed around the Prophet like water and he wondered briefly if that’s how Noah felt when he parted the seven seas. No, wait that was that dude Jonah that did that, he corrected himself.

  They fell on the drunken raiders before most of them could pull a gun or blade from its sheath. Jagged teeth tore into tender flesh as a few ineffective shots rang out and the Prophet continued his sermon.

  He lowered his arms and said “Amen.”

  He stared at the carnage before him. They had been bad men and mocked his story of redemption. God had smitten them for it.

  Oh, well, I tried. He shrugged and began pilfering through their belongings.

  He whistled a tune as he shouldered a weeks’ worth of supplies and left the carnage behind him. Maybe the next group he encountered would be more receptive he thought optimistically when he told them the incredible story of angels disguised as children and their fearsome beasts.

  Authors Note

  Wesley R. Norris

  Hi guys and girls! I hope you’ve enjoyed the tale of The Feral Children as much as we enjoyed telling it to you. This is the story I’ve been waiting to tell since Book 1. It’s been an incredible journey for the tribe, and I feel fortunate to have been a part of it. What comes next for the tribe? I like to think that they are out there free and happy. Maybe they find that other zoo and Bert gets a girlfriend. All I know is that our tribe of unlikely heroes accomplished amazing things with their will and fortitude. We can all take something away from that.

  As of this writing the sizzler reel for Zombie Road has been filmed. I got to play Bastille, my wife was Sheriff Collins and one of my sons was Stabby. Keep your fingers crossed this works out for David and we all get to see Gunny and Jessie on the screen someday. Who knows, maybe the Feral Children will be next!

  If you are wondering who this mysterious Rye character is then it’s your lucky day. Keep reading, there’s a short story in the back of this book that follows him on a retrieval. I’m excited to announce there’s a brand-new chapter in the Zombie Road saga centered on the retrievers and Rye is the main character. Look for the first book Deadline sometime in early 2021.

  Thanks to the incredible David A. Simpson for his faith and trust in me and allowing me to journey down the Zombie Road with him. He’s truly a one of a kind guy and if you happen to see him tearing up the roads in the ZR Mustang or at a convention, stop in and say hi, buy a book and chat with him. They say you should never meet your heroes, well; he’s the exception to the rule in every way. Thanks buddy.

  We met a young lady at Walker Stalker 2019 in Atlanta named Kassie. I’ve never seen anyone as excited as her to hold a book in her hands and her infectious attitude is something I’ll always carry with me. She was so excited when I told her that there would be a character named after her in this book that played a pivotal role. I hope we did you justice young lady.

  Thank you, Tony Bowman and family, for the insight on autism and the inspiration for the Spivey Clan. Tony is one of my favorite writers of all kinds of twisted tales and if you haven’t read his work, then you are missing out on a real treat.

  Thank you Runa Iren Nummedal for the help with the Norwegian translations and the folklore.

  Thank you to all the people working behind the scenes to make a good book into a great one. Alina G, for your tireless efforts, thank you. The always excellent Eric A. Shelman for the awesome narration that gives these characters a voice, thank you. Thanks to all of the fans that drive this series and threw their names in the hat for characters. Many of you will see your own names mentioned in here. Thanks for playing along. We can’t kill all of you, but we killed as many as we could! You guys and girls are amazing.

  I’d be remiss not to mention my own band of Feral Children. Wynema, Ryan, Garrett, DJ, Landon and granddaughter Harper as well as all of their friends who helped shape the personalities of the Tribe. I love you all!

  Most importantly, thank you to the beautiful lady that I call my wife, Shannon. I wouldn’t be doing this without her love and support. She’s been there the whole way with a pat on the back or a kick in the backside, depending on which I needed most at the time.

  Wesley R. Norris

  August 1, 2020

  Authors Note

  David A. Simpson

  What a tale! This book wraps up the story of the Feral Children and their long journey to safety. They didn’t find what they were looking for but they found something that was their own. Something better. They found family among themselves. They were too long in the wild and going back to a mundane and boring life wasn’t in the cards for them. Who knows what they’ll find in Texas. They are older and wiser now. They are no longer children, no longer think like children and no longer act like children. In the words of the Good Book, they have put away childish things. Stories will be told about them for generations, the tales of their exploits will probably become tall tales told around campfires.

  We hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as we enjoyed writing it. If you’re not in the fan club, come on over to the Facebook David Simpson Fan Club page and say hello. I’m on there all the time and any updates about books, movies or projects are posted there first.

  If you liked the series, please consider leaving a review. Every one helps and once we get 100, rumor has it Amazon sends us a unicorn.

  Be safe, live life and don’t get hit by a bus.

  David A. Simpson

  9/18/2020

  44

  Burrito Bushido:

  A Zombie Road Short Story

  WESLEY R. NORRIS

  Middle Of Nowhere, Texas

  July, 10 Months After the Outbreak

  I dropped a gear and pushed the gas pedal to the floor, straddling the center line of the highway. I knew I wasn’t going to outrun them, but I wasn’t going to make it any easier for these assholes either. The road was too long, too straight and too flat for me to pull far enough ahead that they’d give up and let me be on my way with the priceless treasure nestled in the back. There was nothing but low scrub and cactus on either side of the narrow blacktop, so I wasn’t going to be able to hide from them either.

  Bo barked at the driver of the Ford Raptor as he pulled alongside the passenger’s side and aimed a shotgun at the Armadillo, my armored up silver Jeep Wrangler. I wasn’t worried about him shooting at us with that scattergun, the windows were bulletproof and the flat bodied design of the Jeep was ideally suited to armoring. The body panels were reinforced with military grade plate armor and a layer of ballistic ceramic on the backside. The open top was covered in a titanium alloy mesh, a prototype material found in one of the abandoned military bases across the country. A fifty-caliber round would put a dent in it, but it wasn’t coming through. What I lost in speed from the additional weight of the upgrades was kind of a moot point anyway as the Jeep wasn’t a real fast vehicle to begin with.

  Another car, a convertible SS Camaro approached on the driver’s side. The passenger aimed what look
ed like a MP-5 submachine gun at me. I gave him the finger and tried to swerve into him, hoping to push him off into the desert scrub. As the Armadillo’s tires squealed in protest from my maneuver, I was rewarded with sixty pounds of pissed off Australian Shepherd landing in my lap. Bo growled at my driving. I shoved him back to the passenger seat and growled right back at him. The Camaro veered wide onto the shoulder to avoid me and the driver fought the high performance sports car for control on the loose gravel. In my rearview I saw a Cadillac come flying out of the dust behind me, a belt fed machine gun mounted on the hood. Terrific, I thought.

  Another Ford Raptor roared down the shoulder to my left narrowly missing the Camaro as the driver fought to get asphalt back under the tires of the muscle car. Tumbleweeds and cactus were tossed in the air like confetti by the passing truck and the Raptor veered in front of me. The grinning jackass manning the bed mounted machinegun actually waved at me, before tilting the gun to aim at my face. The Camaro slid back into position on the driver’s side. I glanced at the ugly mug staring at me from the sports cars passenger seat. I was boxed in. The Armadillo was pretty heavily armored but a few armor piercing rounds from that thirty cal through the run flat tires or radiator at point blank range would leave me stranded a long way from home.

  I brake checked the Cadillac riding my bumper, just because I’m a dick sometimes. The Caddy driver slammed on his brakes to keep from eating my rear bumper and I swear I heard him yell something ugly about my mother over the roar of the engines and the hum of off road tires on the weather beaten asphalt.