The Feral Children
Animals
David A. Simpson
Wesley R. Norris
Contents
Also by David A. Simpson
Also by Wesley R. Norris
Prologue
1. September
2. Cody
3. Harper
4. Vanessa
5. Swan
6. Annalise and Tobias
7. Murray
8. Donny
9. Main Entrance
10. Kelly
11. The Children
12. Cody
13. Day One
14. Cody
15. Cody
16. Kerry
17. Putnam
18. Tribe
19. Donny
20. Swan
21. Kerry
22. New Arrivals
23. Gordon and Harper
24. Gordon
25. Cody & Gordon
26. Murray
27. Gordon
28. Vanessa
29. Swan
30. Teddy
31. Trial and Error
32. Harper & Cody
33. Busted
34. Gordon
35. Smith’s Landing
36. Gordon
37. Gordon
38. Murray
39. Gordons Gang
40. Gordon
41. The Tribe
42. Tribe
43. Swan
44. Cody
45. Tribe
46. Richard
47. Donny
48. Diablo
49. Kodiak
50. Tribe
51. Gordon
52. Diablo
53. Smith’s Landing
54. Piedmont House
Epilogue
Authors Note
Also by David A. Simpson
Novels
Zombie Road: Convoy of Carnage
Zombie Road II: Bloodbath on the Blacktop
Zombie Road III: Rage on the Rails
Zombie Road IV: Road to Redemption
Zombie Road V: Terror on the Two-Lane
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache
Anthologies
Tales from the Zombie Road: The Long Haul Anthology
Undead Worlds: A Reanimated Writers Anthology
Treasured Chests: A Zombie Anthology
Trick or Treat Thrillers: Best Paranormal 2018
Trick or Treat Thrillers: Best Horror 2018
The Zombie Road Coloring Book
Zombie Road: The Road Kill Coloring Book
Also by Wesley R. Norris
Childrens Book
Elf Without A Shelf
Anthologies
Tales from the Zombie Road: The Long Haul Anthology
Splintered Dreams: A Guide to the Apocalypse Vol 2
The Feral Children
Animals
A Zombie Road Tale
Book 1 in the Feral Children series
This is a work of fiction by
David A. Simpson
and
Wesley R. Norris
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No portion of this text may be copied or duplicated without author or publisher written permission, with the exception of use in reviews
Copyright 2019 David A. Simpson
All rights reserved
The Feral Children
Animals
A Zombie Road tale
Dedicated to my dearest partner in life:
The nitpicky, OCD, grammar-Nazi, Robin.
Prologue
Winter
Kodiak wrapped the buffalo skin robe tighter as the wind swirled gusts of snow around his feet. The stone walls of the burnt-out church provided little shelter from the snow storm that raged and wailed and dumped its fury on this forgotten corner of the world. Snow clung to his eyelashes, eyebrows and his hair, which was getting too long, as he watched and waited.
He knew the storm gave them perfect cover if the other tribe chose tonight to attack. If they came, it would be from this direction. Right into his trap. The cables strung across the road were concealed beneath the fresh snow that blanketed the asphalt, ready to be pulled tight at a moment’s notice. They were invisible in the dark, benign and harmless on the off chance someone else was traveling the road, but deadly when pulled into place.
His ears strained over the howling wind to hear the whining of the snowmobiles the others rode. If they came, it wouldn’t be to talk. If they came, they would be counting on the storm to mask their approach. He leaned against Otis, soaking in his warmth. The big bear would smell and hear them long before him. The wind died down a little and its shrieking through the collapsed roof eased. The pair waited with a patience learned from hard lessons and shared an easy companionship. They looked like snow-covered mounds of fur.
Kodiak had tried to avert trouble, had went out of his way to avoid a fight but his efforts were perceived as weakness. Things escalated as things do and a life had been taken. The others had thought they were weak, thought they’d be an easy target but they had been wrong. Now they were coming for payback. It might be tonight, it might not be, but he knew they were coming. They wouldn’t forget the insult and they wouldn’t forget about the girl.
The boy defied them. He stood against them. The child warrior and the colossal bear that towered by his side would defend his people. His tribe. The innocent boy once called Cody Wilkes was long gone. There was no one left alive to remember who he had been. The ugly, new world started in September when the old world died and the warrior king known only as Kodiak arose from the ashes.
He pressed closer to Otis, the 1200-pound bear, seeking the additional warmth he offered. He was scarred and fearsome and had a roar that made his living enemies quake in terror. His massive claws could decapitate a zombie with a single blow. His jaws had immense power to crush bone and rend flesh.
Maybe that was the difference, he thought as the big bear chuffed softly at him, ruffling the feathers and beads in his hair. We have the animals to give us purpose. Keep us sane. Love us as we love them. Protect us as we protect them.
There was enough of everything for everyone left alive for a long time, there was no reason to fight. No reason to go to war. They had warehouses full of food. Water was abundant. The war should be with the undead and the Savage Ones. The animals who’d always avoided man before the zombie virus swept the world but now attacked in droves, all fear of man lost. The coyotes and the vultures, the hyenas and the crows and all the other carrion animals. The ones that lived on the dead. The ones that were driven to madness from unrestrained gorging, eating the easy pickings from the stumbling buffet.
The other tribe wanted control, they couldn’t live and let live. They wanted the girls and they wanted servants to do the work that was beneath them to do. Like any war, it started out small. Small disagreements, small arguments, small trespasses. Then came the escalations, the yelling and the fights. Pushing and shoving turned into killing and dying. It was always the same whether it was two kids on the playground or global nuclear powers playing brinksmanship. Somebody always blinked. If they came tonight, Kodiak would end it.
He’d shown mercy and kindness in the beginning. He’d tried to keep the old ways where children didn’t bludgeon each other to death with homemade battle axes or spears. The old ways were gone, though. It had taken him a little longer than the others to realize it but now that he did, he would be as ruthless and unforgiving as they were. The next time they met, blood would spill.
/> He hoped they would come, that it would end here tonight. The boy and his beast would fall into them with claws, jaws and steel.
No more mercy.
No more wasted words.
Let them come.
Kodiak ran his hands over the cool iron of his Warhammer.
He watched.
He waited.
He remembered….
1
September
Mr. Baynard
Robert Baynard slipped out from under the covers as his alarm clock buzzed its good morning serenade, enjoying the feel of the cool air on his skin. After silencing the ride of the Valkyries, he slid from the bed, wasting no time as he smoothed the sheets and made it with military precision. He transitioned into his morning stretching routine. His years as a United States Navy sailor may have been long over, but he still carried the habits ingrained in him from twenty years of service to his country.
Robert was not a large man at only five feet seven inches and one hundred thirty-three pounds, his ideal perfect weight for his height. He prided himself on his physical conditioning and strict regimen. Not much he could do about his thinning hairline, but his waistline was easily kept in check.
Adequately stretched he dropped to the floor and pressed out his morning routine of pushups and sit-ups, noting with some satisfaction that he finished a full seven seconds ahead of his usual time. Stepping into the bathroom he turned on the hot water then headed for the kitchen. It would be heated to precisely his preferred showering temperature by the time he started the coffeemaker, grabbed the morning paper from the front porch and returned.
Exactly seven minutes and forty-five seconds later, Robert exited the shower as the last drops of coffee made it from the machine into the pot. He didn’t have to check; he knew it with certainty.
Even though it was a Saturday, he dressed in his usual work attire of starched khakis, sensible brown shoes, button down Oxford and one of his many animal themed ties. Today’s was a bit more festive than usual; it featured a collage of Macaw parrots. Returning to the kitchen he poured his first cup of coffee: black, no sugar. He set the skillet on the stove top and turned it to the medium heat setting and headed for the fridge. Robert knew that by the time he had all his normal breakfast items laid out in neat rows, his cup of coffee would be just the right temperature to drink and the skillet would be just the right temperature for cooking. Robert loved consistent, methodical orderliness in his life and had his morning routine mapped out to the second.
Today’s breakfast, like every other morning, consisted of four strips of crispy bacon, two lightly buttered pieces of wheat toast and two eggs over easy, fuel for his day of molding young minds.
He broke from his routine and read the labeling on the package as he opened it. It was a different brand than he usually bought. There had been a meat shortage for weeks and the cause had never been made clear. Something about a labor dispute and company mergers but the new bacon looked the same as the old bacon. No extra fat or unevenly sliced pieces. He laid the strips of thick cut in the skillet and took his first sip of coffee. Perfect, he thought as he loaded the toaster with two slices of whole wheat bread. As soon as he lifted the bacon from the skillet to cool and drain away the excess grease after exactly six minutes, flipped only once, he would depress the plunger on the toaster and crack two eggs into the bacon grease. The toast would pop out as he scooped up his over easy eggs and breakfast would be exactly on schedule.
Minutes later, Robert sat down to eat and mentally went over his day as he browsed the headlines in the morning paper. A few riots in the big cities, he noted. Flu-like virus was sweeping the country causing psychotic behavior in people. He would be sure to discuss this with his students. Viruses were always making interspecies jumps, and this could be another example.
He was a high school biology teacher in addition to leading an extracurricular zoology program. The program was designed for students who were interested in careers in veterinary medicine, game and fish law enforcement, or animal biology. The group discussed topics such as how loss of habitat and the encroachment of man were forcing both man and beast to adapt to a rapidly changing world.
One of his students, Harper, had nicknamed him Mr. Barnyard, playing on his last name. At first it had annoyed him but he had grown to secretly like it, even though he’d never admit it to the kids. Today he was taking her and an assortment of the best and brightest of these students on a field trip to the Piedmont Animal Sanctuary to study some of the many animals housed there. Each student would be free to spend the day observing the animal species of their choosing and submit their findings to the group for discussion at their next meeting for an extra credit grade.
He remote started his car with the key fob and cleaned up his breakfast dishes, satisfied in the knowledge that his car’s engine would be at its optimum operating temperature when he slid behind the wheel.
As he left his house precisely on schedule, he marveled at his own efficiency. Robert was as predictable as the sunrise and a creature of habit that very rarely made changes to his routine.
“Although,” he thought as he drove toward the school to meet his favorite students, “That new bacon was delicious.”
2
Cody
The sun peeked over the tops of the tall maple trees rapidly bringing warmth to the early fall Saturday morning. Cody Wilkes was already working up a sweat despite the cooler temperatures as he finished scooping up the last shovel full of dung left behind by Millie, the black rhinoceros. She was a huge beast who generated equally huge piles of waste. Weighing in at nearly 1100 pounds but as gentle as a lamb, she was an old girl at thirty-five and blind in one eye. The part time job had its drawbacks, that was for sure, but he didn’t complain. It sure beat cutting grass or, God forbid, babysitting. His mom wasn’t a pushover like some other parents. If he asked her for fifty bucks to buy a new game, she’d make him do so much work around the house that it came out to about ten cents an hour. Nope. He’d rather hang out with the animals. Pay was way better, too. Cody was careful to keep her in his peripheral vision when he worked on her blind side. She wouldn’t intentionally hurt him but her limited vision made her hazardous to work around in the confines of the pen and having his foot stepped on would not be his preferred way to start the day. Her short tail swished back and forth to chase away the pesky flies constantly buzzing around her.
Millie was a popular attraction at the Park. Her gentle nature and willingness to tolerate the masses of children that visited every year made her a crowd favorite among the flocks of kids lining up to feed her carrot after carrot, her favorite treat. As soon as she heard the first car approaching, she would leave her pen and spend the rest of the day grazing the fence line along the walking path and waiting for a tasty handout from the tourists.
At almost 400 acres the Piedmont Animal Sanctuary sat up against the mighty Mississippi River on one side and the Minnesota border on another. It was located just a few miles outside of New Albin, Iowa, a small town with two claims to fame. It was the hometown of Milt Gantenbein of the Green Bay Packers and also the farthest northeastern town in Iowa.
Many of the residents in the park were retired circus animals needing a safe place to live out their golden years. A few, like the black panther, were animals that had been owned by people who didn’t realize the commitment it took to keep large exotic pets and found themselves unable to deal with them once they passed the cute and cuddly stage.
Despite its middle-of-nowhere location, it was considered one of the premiere care facilities for aging animals or ones that no other zoo would take. The gentler creatures like Millie, Bert the giraffe and Ziggy the ostrich had large areas to roam in the daytime and returned to their enclosures at dark. Others like the wolves, bears and the panther had handlers during visiting hours, so the guests could get up close and personal with the animals. Even though almost every animal in the park had been born in captivity and were used to being around humans, it neve
r hurt to be cautious with the toothier species.
“Catch!” Kelly yelled as Cody looked up in time to snag the bottle of water out of the air. She smiled at the sight of her fourteen-year-old son leaning on his shovel. Tall and handsome like his father, he was the center of her world. She missed Todd and wished he could see the man his son was becoming. Cody was still a small boy when his father died along with three other firemen when the roof collapsed in a warehouse blaze.
“Thanks Mom.” Cody said as he twisted off the bottle cap and took a deep swallow.
“Hon, when you’re done here, will you feed the hyenas? They are kenneled on the other side of Bert’s enclosure, the old cages where the lions used to be. Derek will be down shortly to sedate them and inject their microchips. Keys are in the golf cart.” Kelly said as her radio chirped to life.
Animals Page 1
