A New America Trilogy (Book 1): The Human Wilderness

by S. H. Livernois

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Thanks For Reading

  About the Author

  THE HUMAN WILDERNESS

  S.H. Livernois

  For my husband, Jourdan, who always believed in me.

  Copyright © 2017 S.H. Livernois

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Chapter 1

  The deer was dying at Eli's feet. He stared into the animal's glassy black eye as it gazed up at the trees, then at him, confused and afraid and in pain.

  The doe scraped its hooves against dried leaves and grunted its last breaths. Eli crouched down and peeled off his glove, reached out a broad hand, and palmed the warm fur of its neck.

  "Shh." He stroked the animal between its jaw and shoulder and tried to ignore the bloody place where his arrow had struck. "Shh."

  The animal's breathing slowed. The light in its eyes dimmed. With his other hand, Eli unsheathed his hunting knife and his throat tightened.

  "I'm sorry." He thrust the blade into the back of its head. The muscled throat stopped pulsing beneath his hand. Blood spread beneath its body, staining the ground red, and steaming in the cold morning air.

  Eli leaned back on his heels and stared at the body, head hung, a frown creasing his forehead. He hated watching things die, but hunting was his job and he had been ordered to kill a deer for the anniversary celebration that night.

  Had it really been six years? That was half of Eli's entire adult life. He was only thirty, but he felt much older. So much change and loss stretched time.

  Eli breathed the woods in deep and smelled the first hint of autumn. That meant harvest, then winter and the lean months. Time was simpler now, dictated by the sun and the seasons, and Eli liked it that way. He let out his breath in a stream of white cloud, ran slender fingers through his wavy black hair, and gently pulled the arrow from the deer's body. He put his gloves back on, rose up from his haunches, and gazed down at the animal.

  "Thank you."

  Branches snapped and something rustled through the brush. Beneath low brows, his dark blue eyes flicked toward the sound, a dozen feet behind him and to the left. He wiped the blood off his knife and sheathed it, readied another arrow on his crossbow. It could be another animal, or the wind, or his imagination.

  Or it could be one of them, stalking and waiting for the right moment to lunge, bite, and infect.

  Eli waited, his tall, muscled form frozen in a pose of readiness. Then it struck him — his friend, Squirrel, was nowhere to be found. Eli had been alone since he loosed his arrow from his blind of saplings. Squirrel knew they weren't supposed to separate. Those were the rules.

  Eli stepped back a couple paces and nestled his back against a vast oak tree.

  Be calm, clear your mind. Don't be afraid.

  A branch snapped again. Leaves rustled. Silence. Wrinkles plunged between Eli's eyes, now narrowed to slits and searching the woods.

  If a Parasite was tracking them, his friend was in danger. All it took was one scratch, one bite. Eli couldn't call out to warn him; his only choice was to inch from his hiding place, crossbow at the ready.

  Eli peeled himself from the tree and faced the world behind him. His eyes focused on trees and brush, and he hoisted his crossbow. Squirrel could already be one of them, but he could still be alive. Something flitted between the trunks to his left.

  Eli's finger slid behind the trigger, ready to kill again if needed. He hated watching things die, even the infected. They were still human.

  The shape emerged. Eli nearly squeezed the trigger.

  "It's me! It's still me!" Squirrel cried.

  Squirrel stood stock still in front of Eli's ready arrow. Eli dropped the weapon with a relieved sigh—the infected, or Parasites as most people called them, were silent creatures. For the moment, they were safe.

  "Be quiet," Eli said. "You have to stay close."

  "I know, I know. Had to piss. Didn't think you'd want to watch." Squirrel chuckled at his own joke, spotted Eli's scowl. "All right, all right, lighten up." Squirrel shuffled forward. "You get it?"

  "Yeah," Eli said, pointing behind him to the deer's body. He noticed something else. "Where's your gear?"

  Anyone who went beyond the walls had to cover up — thick gloves, guards on mouth and neck, long sleeves, leather wraps on the arms and legs, heavy boots. Squirrel, a rail-thin man with more beard on his face than hair on his head, had shod his mouth guard. He waved his fist, fingers grasping his gear in a crumpled ball.

  "Right here, Private."

  "Put them on, please," he said. "You never know —"

  Squirrel waved the hand carrying his gear with a grunt. "When we're done with this here deer, I will. You worry too much."

  Eli stared at his friend's dirty face, frustrated.

  Someone has to worry.

  Both men squatted next to the body with a groan. Eli gazed solemnly into the deer's dead eye, now just a glassy orb staring at the trees.

  "That's a good shot," Squirrel said, slipping a long hunting knife from the sheath at his hip. "Damn good job, Private."

  Eli sat back on his heels as Squirrel gutted the animal, the heat from its insides steaming in the cold air. The metallic tinge of blood, the squish of organs as Squirrel yanked them from the body, reminded Eli of what he'd done. He turned away.

  "So, Eli," Squirrel began as his hands dove inside. Eli shushed him to lower his voice. "Sorry. You coming tomorrow night?"

  Everyone in town would be at the celebration. There would be venison and music and dancing and hard cider. They'd survived another year. More importantly, they'd survived the past six.

  Eli stood and watched the rays of the sunrise spread through the tree trunks, wishing Squirrel would be content with gutting the deer in silence. Noise made him uneasy.

  "Nah," Eli said.

  Squirrel huffed. "You have to be sociable."

  "I don't like crowds."

  "Don't matter," Squirrel said as he pulled out the deer's intestines. "It sends a message when you're unfriendly."

  "I'm not unfriendly." Eli crossed his arms. Shy and unfriendly were two different things, but people rarely saw that.

  "That's not h
ow it's viewed, my friend." Squirrel turned and pointed a bloodstained finger at him. "There are just a handful of people left on this Earth, probably. People wonder when you can't get along."

  Eli wanted to say it was hard being an outsider, but only muttered, "I know."

  Squirrel turned back to his butchering and worked a couple minutes more in silence. Eli pictured himself at the party, awkwardly standing alone in a corner.

  "Find me a stick, would ya." Squirrel's hands disappeared into the carcass again.

  Eli left his friend's side and strolled away through trees and toward a liquid orange sun, now spilling over a distant horizon beyond the woods. Birds announced the morning: goldfinches, nuthatches, blue jays. He pursed his lips and whistled the titmouse's song. A couple seconds later, it called back. He smiled, stooped to pick up a long, thick stick, and made his way back to Squirrel.

  The deer's insides were now piled up at its hooves.

  "Thank ya muchly," Squirrel said. He pierced the heart, liver, and kidneys with the stick and held it up like a torch. "Gonna ask them to save me the kidneys tonight. No one else eats 'em, anyway."

  Eli laughed. Squirrel leaned the stick and its organs against the carcass, stood, and faced Eli while wiping his hands of the blood with a filthy rag he pulled from his pocket.

  "I don't want to give you a hard time, you know. Only a couple of us know you're a good guy. And that ain't right."

  Eli's stomach turned over and he stared off into the distance to avoid Squirrel's probing gaze. "Never mind it —"

  "I won't. Come to this party. It won't kill ya, and it's a step in the right direction."

  Footsteps scraped leaves; their crackle resounded through the woods. Eli put up his hand, signaled for quiet and stillness. Silence followed and Squirrel stood, frozen. Eli grabbed his crossbow.

  "Put on your gear," he mouthed.

  Squirrel's eyes widened, a shock of white against a dirty face. He stared at something over Eli's shoulder, his pink hands motionless; his now-bloodied rag slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the ground.

  Footsteps sounded again. Squirrel's dark eyes shot back and forth over Eli's left shoulder. Parasites had been stalking them after all, and there was more than one.

  "Run for it." Eli directed his friend to the right with a flick of his head. "Go on."

  Squirrel shook his head a little.

  "Go," Eli repeated through clenched teeth.

  Squirrel had a wife, kids. His death would break hearts. Eli knew his would be forgotten in a day.

  Squirrel's eyes pleaded, said no again, but he nodded. Like a bullet, he leapt off his frozen legs and ran back toward home. Eli spun around, crossbow raised. He saw nothing right away. Then, the shapes came into focus.

  Thin, ragged. Sallow skin, rough like leather. Torn clothes hanging from sharp bones.

  Two Parasites grinned and cocked their heads, gazing lovingly at their prey with the eyes of dead men. One glanced quickly at the other.

  A blur of colors and Eli hit the ground hard. He gasped for breath, sucking in the thick fabric of his mouth guard. A sharp knee dug into his back. Sweat, sour breath, and woodsmoke assaulted his nose. His eyes watered, his stomach turned.

  The Parasite was light as a child and Eli flipped to his stomach. Hot breath steamed on his face, sour and gamy. Eli turned his mouth to the ground.

  Footsteps slammed across the forest floor. The other creature was chasing after Squirrel. The sounds of a struggle began as his friend fought off the predator.

  Eli had to hurry.

  The Parasite groaned with pleasure in Eli's ear, the sound like fingernails scratching his brain. He tried not to listen or be afraid. He shimmied his arm down to his hip to his hunting knife.

  He clasped the hilt and drew it out. The Parasite leaned forward. Fingertips grazed the scarf around his neck, ready to pull it down and expose the back of his neck.

  Eli thrust the knife back and up. Blade met skin, pierced it, sunk into soft organs. Hot blood drenched his glove, the sleeve of his fleece. The Parasite's groan turned into a scream that stabbed through Eli's ears and made his head ring. He shoved the creature off him and scrambled to his feet.

  The world blurred. He searched the confusion of colors for Squirrel, hoping he had raced to the wall. Instead Eli spotted him a few feet away.

  Breath froze in his chest.

  The creature was a foot taller than Squirrel. He wore a button-up shirt with its pockets torn, half the buttons undone, the white now a grimy shade of brown and gray.

  Its bony arm lay against Squirrel's chest, holding him tight. Its dead eyes spread wide, the whites a sickly and dull yellow. It nuzzled his neck and Squirrel flinched. A bony hand grazed the skin, slowly, tenderly.

  Eli lunged for his crossbow. Aimed, sucked in a trembling breath.

  He pressed the trigger. Time slowed: the arrow sprung from the bow, sliced through the air, sunk with a sickening thud into the Parasite's neck. The creature screeched and dropped to the ground, grasping desperately at its wound.

  Squirrel stood silent. Fresh blood bloomed along a line of scratches on his neck.

  Eli had come to the rescue too late.

  Squirrel had only thirty seconds left. He bent down, found a small dagger he kept in his sock. He stared at the blade, then at Eli.

  "Tell my family, will ya, Private?"

  Eli nodded, and his tears smudged Squirrel's form as he pressed the blade to the inside of his arm. He sliced, winced, and the artery poured open, drenching his fleece jacket, his pants, his boots. Eli watched, helpless, as his friend grew pale and weak and sunk to his knees.

  It wasn't quick enough.

  Suddenly Squirrel screamed in a weak, dying voice. He jerked and bent double as the infection surged through his body, destroying his mind. He leered at Eli, confusion and hunger where kindness used to be. He swayed on his knees, his head slumped, and he crashed to the earth.

  Silence followed. A morning breeze fluttered through leaves. The nuthatches and blue jays still sang. Eli patted his own body for entry wounds, scratches, fluid, but found none, only a sore wrist.

  He was fine. Squirrel was a dark, motionless clump on the ground. The Parasite who infected him lay dead next to him. Behind Eli, the second one wheezed. He walked to its side and squatted down a few feet away; blood poured from the gash in his side and onto the ground.

  It stared at the blue sky peeking behind the forest canopy, breath shuddering in its chest in pained gasps, blood spurting from between its chapped and wasted lips.

  Eli swallowed hard. It was suffering, but he couldn't reach out a hand. He couldn't end its pain.

  After a long minute, the groans stopped. Eli stood and stared at all three bodies — all people, all dead because of him. He sighed heavily. No one in Hope had been infected in two years.

  Tell my family.

  The stranger, the one they didn't trust, the one who'd only been among them for three years, had to break the news. Shatter their normalcy and security, no matter how pretend it was.

  Eli didn't want to remind them. And he didn't want to hear them wish Squirrel was the one who'd come back.

  Chapter 2

  Eli banged his fist against the steel wall that encircled Hope. He adjusted the deer on his shoulders; its warm blood seeped through his jacket.

  "Open up!" he called.

  The gate's watchtower was empty. Eli supposed the guards who were supposed to man it were likely chatting elsewhere. He peeked over his shoulder at the tree line; four Parasites emerged from the woods and ran toward the wall, spears in hand.

  "Open the gate!"

  Eli pounded his fist against the steel, louder and more frantic this time. A face peered out from inside the tower, down at Eli and the Parasites twenty feet behind him.

  "Oh shit," the guard said.

  A second later, the gate screeched open. Eli raced inside and spun around; four sets of feet rushed toward the wall as the gate slammed shut. A minute later, fists pou
nded against the wall and the Parasites howled for their prey. The steel clanged and vibrated and Eli breathed deep to slow his heart.

  He turned around and faced a trio of familiar faces.

  Eli stood in the buffer zone between the inner and outer walls that protected the settlement; three men stood before Eli, blocking his path. He set the deer on a cart and one of the three motioned to a small cabin behind him, but Eli's temper spiked before he could swallow it down.

  This was the tenth time he'd approached the wall after a hunt to find none of the watchmen keeping guard.

  "What are your men doing up there, Artie?" Eli said.

  The man shoved him back with a gloved hand. "How's that your business?" He glanced over Eli's shoulder, eyes searching. "Where's Squirrel?"

  "They weren't manning their posts —" Eli began.

  "Don't worry yourself, newbie. This ain't your job." Artie scowled. "Where's Squirrel?"

  Eli wanted to tell the guard how safety and shelter had made them all reckless, that they'd forgotten the threat outside the walls. He pictured Squirrel and the blood pouring from his body. Eli ground his teeth and slid past the guard without a word, making for the cabin.

  He stepped inside and stripped, his temper throbbing against his chest with every thud of his heart. His clothes went into a tub filled with vinegar. Another tub held water, cloudy brown and cold and littered with twigs and leaves. Eli lathered himself from top to bottom with a pale brick of lard soap, rinsed, and walked into a separate room where new clothes had been left for him to change into. He left the cabin clean, all traces of the outside, of the Parasites or the infection, washed away.

  On the other side, two other security men met him with questions on their faces.

  "Where's Squirrel?" one said.

  Eli eyed him briefly, shook his head, and marched forward to the second gate. He'd made a promise to Squirrel, so his wife would be the first to hear the news. The gate opened and Eli drifted into town.

  The earliest survivors called it Hope, long before he arrived. It was once a one-stoplight small town and was now surrounded by strong walls that protected eighty souls from the outside world. Squirrel had been in Hope since the beginning. He took shelter in the school with the others as the herds banged on the walls for days trying to get in and spread the infection. Afterward, he and dozens of others — most now dead — raised both the walls. He helped the town thrive in the ashes of the past. He had roots and friends here. People who looked at him as a hero, a leader.