The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set)

by Taylor Michaels

"Why not crossbows. Should be easier to aim and shoot."

  "Slow to reload, no more powerful, noisy, heavy. It wasn't the crossbow that stopped men in armor. It was the longbow. The ones we have today with all these pulleys are even better. As time goes by and we run short of bullets, we'll be glad we have all those arrows. Some of these coming cold winter nights we should think about making our own."

  "I hope we live to see those cold winter nights. You ready? How do we go? Motorcycles?"

  "Yeah, for the first part. Then on foot. Make sure you have good walkin' shoes."

  They revved the engines on the motorcycles, then maneuvered through the zigzag path to the back gate, entering the largest path into the forest. After one hour of slow travel, the trail became overgrown with briars and underbrush and the cycles could go no farther. At this point, they killed the engines on the cycles and camouflaged them with tree branches. George pulled out a machete and took off on foot, hacking his way through the brush.

  "Come here often?" John whispered.

  "Never before. Listen for a few minutes and tell me if you hear anything," George said, no longer waving the machete.

  They stood dead still for a minute, hoping to hear a bird singing or a rustle in the leaves, signifying meat for dinner. John broke the silence when he said, "Nope. Don't hear a thing."

  "Damn, it's going to be another long, hard day. OK, pick a direction. I figured we wouldn't be lucky right away, but a man can hope, you bein' the lucky SOB that you are."

  John smiled and said, "I'm not lucky in everything, George. Only about half the time. But this time, I pick that way," John said, pointing north. "East and west are up and down hills. We came from the south; so, we go north. Why do people complain about this? Hunting is simple."

  "It isn't simple unless we bring home dinner. Do you see any signs of any game? Broken twigs, feathers, scat?"

  "Nope, you."

  "No. Afraid not. No signs is a bad sign." George's stomach rumbled.

  After an hour of stealthy searching, George grabbed John's arm and whispered, "Footsteps, human. That way," he said, pointing north.

  After five minutes of tiptoeing through the forest, making sure not to break twigs in their path, George spied someone in the distance and put his hand over his eyes, similar to a salute, which was the hand signal for 'Look.' John returned the OK sign for message understood as George pulled out his binoculars. The person was aiming a bow at a turkey off to the left. George put a cupped hand over his chest, meaning 'female.' Then put his hand out with the palm horizontal, meaning child, although she appeared to be sixteen or better, a little over five feet tall. John crept up to George and whispered, "A girl. You sure?"

  George nodded. "Get ready. A turkey fifty feet in front of her. Ten o'clock to us. See it?" he said, handing John the binoculars.

  "Yeah." A broad grin lit up John's face. "I see dinner. I'll tell you when." John put the binoculars back to his eyes.

  The girl released the arrow and John said, "Now." George released his arrow and hit the turkey. It gobbled once, fluttered and fell down and then thrashed a few times. Afterwards, it was perfectly still.

  "Great shot. You've done this before."

  "Not often enough."

  George ran to the turkey as John pulled his pistol and watched. George grabbed the turkey by the feed and walked toward the overly thin girl. Her long black hair was a tangled mess, her arms and legs had black and brown smudges of dirt. As he neared, he stopped and stepped back. It was obvious she hadn't taken a bath in quite a while.

  She screamed at him. "You ruined my shot! What's wrong with you? I'm hungry and that was going to be my dinner. I haven't had meat for a week. You men. Always screwing things up." She sat down cross-legged on the ground, put her face into her hands and began to cry.

  George walked a little closer, but was stopped again by the odor. "You missed. You were aiming too high. You didn't have a chance, but I didn't shoot until after you did. I didn't ruin your shot, I saved it. The turkey didn't move until after your arrow passed overhead."

  She lifted her head and wiped her tears with the back of her hand, causing the dirt to smear around her face. "Oh, God. Men! So, who are you? Robin Hood and that's Little John?"

  "No, I'm Robin Hood and he's just John."

  She smiled with the last of her tears running down her cheek. "What are you going to do with me?" she said. She bowed her head, looked down at the ground, and kicked at the leaves by her feet.

  George opened his knapsack and pulled out a ham sandwich he had made from a can of Spam earlier that morning and held it in front of her. "Here, you're hungry."

  The odor of the ham caused her to open her eyes. She didn't say no and she didn't hesitate to take the sandwich. She grabbed it from George's hands and tore apart the wrapper in a heartbeat. George opened his knapsack and pulled out three bottles of water, handing one to her and one to John. "Let's talk. I'm George and he's still John."

  John, quietly put his pistol into his pocket without letting go and sat on a rock outcropping, watching the girl.

  "What's your name? You from around here?" asked George.

  Between gulps of the sandwich, she answered, "Sarah. And no. I was about two hundred miles north when the world went crazy. Camping in the wilds of western Pennsylvania. Figured I'd never make it through a winter there. So, I started south. Thought I could make South Carolina by winter. You?" She chugged the water.

  "We weren't here either, when it first started. John's dad owned a summer camp about five miles from here. We settled in a few months ago. I've hunted everything where we live and we were lookin' for a new huntin' ground. You see many other people around here?"

  "Nobody. They must have all died from the plague, then from other things. Tried to stay away from the cities. I looked into a few houses. A few bodies. Not much food. A few cans here and there. I'm a fair hunter, with a gun. Not that much practice with a bow. Up until a few days ago, I was eating regular. Ran out of bullets. The last few days, I haven't found anything except roots, greens and berries. I thought I had it made when I saw that turkey. I thought I was going to score some protein. Plus, most of these greens taste like grass."

  "You just got in a rush," George said. "Didn't take your time aimin'. It's easy to get anxious when you see a real prize. It's hard to wait until you're sure you can hit it. You get afraid you'll miss the opportunity and end up doin' exactly that."

  "You must have laid in a few supplies if you're giving away ham sandwiches. And you still have bread. I haven't had a slice for weeks." Her eyes roamed from their heads to their feet. "You don't look hungry."

  "We are. I've lost almost ten pounds. Most of us have."

  "Most of you? How many are you?"

  George looked at John and raised his eyebrows. John raised his. George took that as a cue to tell the young girl some things, but not all. After all, she could be a spy.

  "We have twelve people. It takes a lot of food to feed that many mouths. We stored some food before the panic hit, but not enough. We planted a garden, but we don't have enough food to last until the garden comes in. We've cut back on rations a couple times. We're all hungry. Huntin' has dried up. We have a cook …"

  "A chef," John interrupted.

  "Yes. A chef. And she can really cook. She makes groundhog taste like steak."

  "You must have giant groundhogs if you can feed that many."

  "So," said John. "You do have a sense of humor. If you have no objection, why don't we take the turkey and you home with us and we'll share a turkey dinner with you. We can talk about other arrangements after dinner. Although, you could use a bath first."

  She smelled under her right arm. "I didn't think I smelled that bad. Hey, exactly what kind of arrangements are you talking about? I'm no whore and I'm not that hungry."

  John and George both put their hands, palms out, in Sarah's direction. "Nothing like that, Miss. We have five women and seven men in the group," said George. "Nobody is married to anyb
ody and nobody forces anybody to do anything. You can leave after dinner or before."

  "That turkey isn't as big as it looks. It won't feed that many people."

  "Our chef will do magic with it. Do you have anything else to throw into the pot?"

  "I know a bit about roots, berries and nuts."

  "Show us what you've got," said George.

  She took off her backpack and pulled out a small folding shovel. She walked into the forest and started digging. Two minutes later, she pulled out a root. Then, she walked around gathering greens. Five minutes later, she returned with her hands full. "Eat these and you won't starve."

  John rolled the root around in his hands and scrunched up his face. "Are they good?"

  Sarah laughed. "If you're starving, they are. Boiled, most are decent. The wild onions help. The clover is sweet. Tiger lily blooms are not bad either. The fiddlehead fern shoots are decent."

  George grabbed a few plants and started to eat. "Tastes like grass." He was tempted to spit it out, but instead forced it down.

  "It is grass. But if you eat it, you won't starve. Some of it is quite nutritious. Or, so I'm told."

  George looked at her Reeboks that were tearing apart. "You travelin' on foot."

  "You have something else?"

  "We have a couple cycles, an hour back. We can double up."

  Quickly, John added, "You can ride with George and I'll take the turkey.

  George looked at John and scowled.

  Chapter 38 - The Group Grows

  The hunting trip was a success as John and George had not only brought back a turkey, but also a girl, Sarah. She said she was living in western Pennsylvania when the panic hit and the virus killed her friends and relatives. She knew that she couldn't survive the harsh northern winters and had begun moving south through the forests, living off the land. It was now late summer with winter only four months ahead and the warm south still six hundred miles away. Now, she had to choose. Did she want to continue moving south or would it be better to stay with this group?

  At the compound, George asked his girlfriend Iris to take Sarah to an unused cabin where she could shower and change to fresh clothes. Iris gave Sarah some of her old clothes which were a little tight, but nearly fit, Sarah being thinner and taller.

  After her shower, Sarah dressed and perched herself on the edge of the bed, surveying her new surroundings. The cabin was a bit rough and definitely a product of the fifties, but it was better than a cave and a sleeping bag. An indoor toilet with hot and cold running water were luxuries she had missed for the last two months. She hadn't felt this safe and comfortable in all that time. Almost like the old days before the virus. The good and the bad old days. But the virus changed everything. The times had changed and she had to change with them, doing what she must to stay alive. She couldn't help feeling angry. Her life was bad enough before the virus, but now she was being cheated out of a proper life by the virus and being forced to fight for her life every day.

  Sarah ran her hand along the blue blanket on the bed and wondered if she really wanted this future. She wouldn't have to sleep in a cave or in the open, but she would have to work hard and deal with people. Her experiences with people had never been good, except for her father. It would have been an easier choice if she thought that John trusted her. It wasn't anything he said, but how he looked at her, trying to read her every expression. Analyzing every word she said. Some of the others didn't seem to trust her either, maybe because of John. Making them trust her would be difficult, but it was necessary, if she decided to stay.

  A knock on the door made her return to reality. She pulled the curtain back and looked out the window. It was Iris. Showtime. She would now turn on the charm. She would start with Iris and try to charm all the women and bring out their mother instinct. Then, she would flirt with all the men to get their votes. All of that would be necessary if she wanted to stay here, if that's what she decided was best. If John didn't decide she was not to be trusted and he didn't decide to throw her out. He was definitely a problem.

  "Iris, come in. I really appreciate the shower and the clothes. I haven't felt this good for months. Hot water and soap. A real luxury. Taking a shower in the rain is definitely not fun. I always felt bad about being naked out in the woods. I expected somebody to jump out of the bushes and -- well, you know. And this long hair has been a nuisance. Takes a long time to clean and rinse in the rain." She shivered at the memory of showering in the cold rain and continued to towel her brunette locks. After a few seconds, she smiled at Iris and asked, "Have you been in the group long?"

  "No. Yes." Iris laughed. "It seems like only yesterday, but I came here over a month ago. Since just before the panic. I ran across George during one of his shopping trips when the group was prepping. I kind of fell for the big guy, although he's lost some weight since then. We all have. He's looking good, you know?" Iris said with a wink.

  Sarah smiled along with Iris, but the smile faded quickly. She had too many skeletons in her closet and one just popped into her mind. When Iris said 'big guy,' it reminded Sarah of her grandfather, a tall, odd man. His friends always called him 'big guy' because he was tall, like John. The smile on Sarah's face was replaced by a distant stare.

  "What's wrong, hun? You're looking sad. It wasn't something I said, was it?" Iris looked deeply into Sarah's brown eyes. "You gonna be alright?"

  "Oh, sorry, nothing really. Just some memories. The cabin reminds me a little of my grandfather's cabin. He was a bit -- strange. But those days are over," she said, the smile returning to her pretty, young face. "One thing I'm really upset about is missing my shot at that turkey. If it hadn't been for George, we wouldn't have turkey for dinner tonight. I really need more practice with the bow or I'll starve, if I have to go back out into the world on my own," she said with a visible shudder in her slight body.

  "Don't worry sweetie, I don't think that will happen. Where's your bow?"

  "Over there," Sarah said, pointing to the corner of the room.

  "Why don't we go out and practice, now? No time like the present. I've finished my work in the garden and I've never shot a bow. Maybe you can show me the ropes. I might have to shoot something for dinner one day myself. Never know what the future will bring. We can shoot at George's cabin. He put up a target on the back."

  "I'd love to," Sarah said, thinking that if she could teach something useful to Iris, then that would lock in Iris's support for her to join the group.

  Outside George's cabin, Iris tacked a piece of paper to the target on the back wall of the log cabin, away from any windows, several feet from the end of the building. She drew a circle in the center of the paper with a pencil. They walked twenty-five yards back and Sarah showed her how to hold the bow and nock the arrow. Sarah shot six arrows, each closer and closer to the target with each shot, but the closest was still six inches above the circle.

  "That's why I missed that turkey," she said in a low voice. "I'm doing something wrong. Aiming too high or sighting it wrong."

  Sarah retrieved the arrows, went back to their shooting position and gave one to Iris. "Shoot the way I showed you."

  Iris took the shot, but was two feet off to the right.

  Sarah handed her another arrow and Iris shot again, still two feet to the right. "You aren't holding it right," she said handing Iris another arrow. "Also, you always close your eyes when you shoot and you flinch. Try it again."

  "It hurts my fingers. I suppose that's why I close my eyes -- and why I flinch."

  As Iris drew the bow back, Sarah put her hand on Iris's and pulled Iris's right hand to the right, closer to her right eye as John walked around the corner of the building.

  Iris released the arrow and John screamed and grabbed his shoulder. Charles was sitting on his porch and ran over, grabbing John before he hit the ground and gently lowered him to the grass. He took out a handkerchief and stuffed it around the arrow to stop the blood flowing from John's shoulder.

  "Pierre. Quick.
John has been shot. With an arrow," he screamed. "Pierre. Quick." Charles looked around and saw Iris holding Sarah's bow.

  Pierre came out of his cabin and looked to where Charles was kneeling over John, about a hundred feet away. The arrow was sticking up in the air like a small sapling. "Mon Dieu. An arrow? Do not try to remove the arrow, Charles."

  "I applied pressure, Pierre. Hang on, John. Pierre is coming."

  Pierre ran inside for his medical bag and ran over to John. He first gave John several injections and then said, "We should wait a few minutes for these to take effect. This will hurt a bit. The arrow has a hunting tip."

  Charles asked, "Anything I can do?"

  "Two things, mon amie."

  "Sure. What? Anything."

  "Get me a bottle of whisky and then hold him, solid like a vise."

  Charles ran to Elspeth's cabin and pounded on the door until it opened. Elspeth had opened the door, but before she could say anything, Charles said, "John has been shot with an arrow. Pierre needs a bottle of whisky."

  Elspeth hesitated for a second, giving Charles a strange look, then hurried to her bed, threw up the covers, pulled out a cardboard box and removed a bottle. She ran back, handed it to Charles and said, "Godspeed."

  Charles ran back to Pierre, who removed the top of the bottle, poured half of the contents onto John's wound and then drank several gulps from the bottle.

  "Give me that," said Charles, who took the bottle and downed half the remaining liquid.

  Pierre began the arduous task of removing the arrow without severing any more tissue or any arteries. The razor sharp hunting tip made the job difficult. Ten minutes later, the arrow was out, but Pierre continued to work. By that time, the whole group had assembled and everyone was sitting on the grass and watching, but no one spoke.

  Finally, after twenty more minutes, Pierre wiped his brow and said, "He will be fine, in time."

  Cho jumped up from her seat on the lawn where she had been sitting and fidgeting and said, "What mean 'in time'? Why not now?"

  "Some of the muscle tissue was severed. He is strong, but he must heal. It will take a few days, perhaps a few weeks, perhaps a few months. I do not know. I will give him a sling for his arm."