Gordon feared the wild girl but tried not to let it show. Out of all of them, she had to be the craziest. The twins were tattooed up like circus freaks but they didn’t ooze crazy like she did. She had gone feral and like her wolves, he didn’t think she knew how to feel remorse or guilt. She would happily sink one of her tomahawks into his head if she had a good reason. He had only poisoned a stupid animal, though. They might be mad but you didn’t kill people for that. Normal people didn’t, anyway. You could never tell what this group would do.
“Chokecherry.” Murray said reading from the book. “Highly toxic and will kill animals who ingest it. Herbivores will eat it by mistake while grazing.”
They all looked at him, waiting for a denial or an excuse or an apology. Something. Anything.
“Yeah, it’s mine.” he finally said, grasping at an idea that might work. “I was doing some research on how to kill the Savage Ones. You know, we have to thin them out, more and more come every week and they’re getting aggressive. I was doing my part, trying to help out.”
The more he spoke, the more plausible his story sounded. He slapped his hands on the table like he’d seen his father do and stood, raising his voice.
“I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do here.” he said indignantly. “It looks to me like you’re trying to blame me for Teddy’s death. I found those chokeberries and he could have too. If anything, blame Mother Nature.”
Swan sat back in her chair and slow clapped a few times.
“That’s admirable.” she said. “Except you left out the part where I saw you trying to feed them to Otis. You left out the part where you mixed the chokeberry leaves with the alfalfa during my birthday party and snuck out to feed it to Bert. You left out the part where Teddy followed you and ate it instead. And finally, you left out the part where you didn’t shut the gate behind you and the foxes killed half the chickens.”
“And let us take the blame for it.” Landon added.
Gordon stammered but couldn’t find words. His story had unraveled and there was nothing left to say. There was no lie he could come up with they would believe. Realizing the ruse was up, he went for the one thing he could always fall back on. Righteous anger.
“Yes, I did it!” he exploded, yelling at them, trying to make them back down. “Ok, is that what you want to hear? Because I did and I’d do it again. I had to!”
“You aren’t fit to lead!” he pointed at Cody and jabbed his finger at him. “You’re letting these people, YOUR so-called people turn into a bunch of cavemen! Look at them! You’re failing them in every way. We could be in nice houses with solar power and generators instead of this septic tank you call home!”
He opened his arms to all of them, imploring them to understand.
“I’m trying to save you from yourselves don’t you see? I did it to open your eyes. We have to get out of here! All I asked for was a scouting team to be sent to my old home. It’s safe, I know it is, but he won’t even allow it. He wants to keep you here and you are all gonna die if you stay! Follow me! Let him stay if he wants, I’ll show you a better life!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted.
He pointed to the youngest, the triplets, then at Swan.
“Do you want them to grow up to be like her? Thinking they’re an animal? She thinks she’s part wolf now!”
No one came to Gordon’s defense. No one nodded their heads in agreement. They sat there and stared, unmoved by his speech. He waited for someone to say or do something.
Cody looked at the tribe. Gordon had made his case; it was up to them to decide.
“Does anyone want Gordon to lead us?” Silence.
“Does anyone want to leave and go with him?” More silence.
“What do we do with him?” Cody asked.
Swan spoke first. “Kill him.”
Donny slammed the shaft of his spear on the floor in agreement.
Gordon’s eyes got big and he looked around fearfully. They were crazy. They would do it and he couldn’t get away. He didn’t even have his machetes with him, they had been forgotten in his room.
“Banishment.” Murray said
There was a murmur of voices and a few heads nodded. No matter what Gordon had done or tried to do, they weren’t murderers. They wouldn’t hang him or cut his throat. Most of them, anyway.
Cody gave them a moment then said “Show of hands. Who wants death?”
Swan and Donny were the only two to raise them.
“Banishment?” he asked
Everyone else held their hands high.
“It is agreed, then. Effective immediately.”
“But you can’t.” Gordon blurted. “It’s getting dark. You have to wait until tomorrow at least. What am I going to eat?”
Cody turned to the pale faced boy who had tried to ruin everything. Had tried to kill Otis.
“Get out, Gordon.” he said. “You have five minutes. If you’re inside the fences after that, I’ll let Swan and Donny have you.”
They both smiled at him, toothy grins in blackened faces, and Swan drew her tomahawks slowly out of their holsters.
“What time is it, Murray?” she asked.
He was the only one that still wore a watch.
“It’s five fifty-seven.” he said.
“Tick tock, Gordy.” Swan said and her smile grew more animalistic.
34
Gordon
Gordon ran from the painted faces. The grim ones and the smiling ones. He didn’t even think to grab his jacket as he bolted for the front gate. When he rounded the corner of the snack shack, he skidded to a halt. There were dozens of the undead pawing at him through the bars and he suddenly remembered what his other job had been today. Spearing the zombies. It was starting to get dark and the savage ones were coming out for their evening meal. A coyote ragged viciously on a keening woman’s leg and tore a chunk out, peeling skin away all the way up to her knee. It slunk off to feed in peace but he would be back for another bite. The red eyed possums were wallowing in from their hidey holes for the walking buffet. Their mouthful of sharp little teeth slashed and tore at the foul-smelling meal as they grew fat and lazy with such a plentiful supply.
Donny and Swan moved quiet as shadows but he saw them and their horrible companions move into position and watch him. Swan had Murrays watch in her hand and she tapped a finger on it, reminding him time was ticking away fast. The back gate was the only way out, there weren’t any of the undead around it. Was there? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been paying any attention when he walked past it this afternoon. It was too far away, though. He’d never make it before they caught and killed him, he couldn’t outrun them and he knew it. They knew it too by the looks of satisfaction on their faces. The others were coming out on the porch to watch. He wanted to pull his hair in frustration but there was no time.
“It’s not fair!” he screamed. “It’s not fair!”
“Should have done your job today.” Swan said.
“Shouldn’t have tried to kill Otis.” Cody said, raising his voice to be heard over the screeching of the undead.
Gordon turned in circles, feeling trapped. Caged and about to be executed. He saw the golf carts by the nurse’s station and ran for them. He could make it to the back gate with one of them, he could get away. Murray yelled a warning but it was too late, he was in the first one and had his foot to the floor. There was a crashing sound as he sped off and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw dangling cords and solar panels smashing along the trail behind him. Murray had wired all the panels together to charge one battery at a time otherwise it took days of good sun just to get a few hours drive time. Gordon didn’t slow, he only had minutes to cover miles. Wolf girl and Panther boy wouldn’t be able to keep up with the cart but if they turned their animals loose, they probably could.
The clattering and banging of the panels finally stopped when the last cord broke and the cart seemed to pick up speed. He kept it floored and stayed on the trail that was the most dire
ct route to the back gate. It was a service entrance that had long been out of use. The gravel driveway that led up to it off the main road was over grown and filled with potholes. It took him long minutes driving full out to make it through the winding paths and across the open field. The gazelle and antelope ran from the bouncing cart and he knew his five minutes were up. He knew the two biggest psychos of the tribe were hot on his trail, running like the wind with wolves and an inky black panther tracking his scent. The sun had dipped behind the spidery branches of the winter trees and it was getting dark fast. Cold, too. He topped a gentle rise and spotted the gate a quarter mile off and turned towards it. In the distance he thought he heard the howl of a wolf and he urged the cart to go faster.
He slid to a stop next to the gate and jumped out. It was locked. The fragging gate was locked! He’d never noticed the chain and padlock before but it must have always been there, it was old and well worn. He looked up and knew he’d never be able to climb over. He’d never make it through the barbed wire at the top.
Maybe the river. He could make it down to the river and swim around the end of the fence.
Right. And die of hypothermia. It was already down in the forties and would probably drop below freezing again tonight. He grabbed the gate and shook it, noticed the bottom was loose. The wires holding the chain link to the metal frame were rusted and some of them broken. He looked back over his shoulder and saw two dark figures top the rise. The animals could be anywhere in the tall grass, they might only be yards away. He ran for the cart and backed it up about thirty feet then slammed it into the forward gear. It picked up speed slowly but it hit the gate in the weak spot and punched its way through. The metal fencing dragged along the roof, ripping the last solar panel off and gouging holes in the plastic but he was on the driveway and picking up speed. He turned around and flipped them off, nearly plowed into a tree when he hit a big pothole and cursed as he swerved back on the road.
He kept the pedal mashed for nearly a half hour before it finally died. It had been getting slower and slower as the battery ran down and he kept it pointed north. He wasn’t far enough away if they chased after him but he didn’t think they would. Mr. High and Mighty had said he was banished. He was allowed to leave. He didn’t say the psycho’s would be allowed to hunt him down. They might do it on their own, though. He knew they hunted in the north woods but they’d be more concerned about fixing the fence than chasing him. It was full dark and freezing cold before he came across a house. He approached carefully, trying to stay quiet and hidden but his teeth kept wanting to chatter. The front door stood wide open and one of the windows was broken. That was a good sign, it meant nobody was home. Living or dead.
Gordon slipped inside and jammed a chair against the door to keep it closed. The house had been empty for months, and from the moonlight he saw evidence of breakfast remains on the counter. The empty packaging had never made it to the trash can. The owner had been eating a greasy breakfast, he guessed, from the moldy cast iron skillet left sitting on the stovetop. He wondered if there was something in the food, if that’s what had started the outbreak. He was too exhausted to think about it and too afraid to stand there in front of the window where he might be seen. He found the bedroom and burrowed under the covers, shivering for a long time before he fell into fitful sleep. A deep, thundering boom that was miles off woke him in the middle of the night and he only wondered about it for a moment before dozing off again.
When he awoke, he was afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of those things that came out of nowhere, snarling and hungry. They were untiring and relentless with no capacity for mercy, no understanding of how important he was and his potential in this new world. He was afraid of being wrong. What if there weren’t any survivors back home? What if it really was something in the food? No place would have been safe. He couldn’t go back to Putnam; they would find him there and one of them would kill him. Or worse, let their animals tear him apart. He had to go north. Maybe he could find another golf cart, a gas powered one, or maybe a quad. He could ride one of those. His older cousin had one and let him drive it on occasion.
He was angry with all of them, all of the savage little kids who thought they were one with their spirit animals or whatever that loon Swan was always going on about. They had run him out and he’d only been trying to lead them to a better place. They’d get what was coming to them one of these days.
He crept around the house quietly once the sun was up and prowled through all the drawers. There were jackets in the closet and winter clothes in boxes on the shelves. He found a nickel-plated revolver in the nightstand. It took a minute to figure out how to open it but when he did, he found six bullets in the cambers. A full load. He practiced pulling it out of his belt in front of the full-length mirror and it didn’t take long before he learned the trick of pulling it out quickly without snagging it on his clothes.
“What was that?” he asked the image facing him. “You think I should leave?”
He whipped out the pistol and shoved it into the face staring back at him.
“I don’t think so Mr. High and Mighty. I think I’m taking over.”
He whipped the gun to the left and said pow, pow then shoved it back towards the face. In his mind, the two wolves’ heads exploded and Swan fell to her knees screaming in pain and sorrow.
“Shut up, bitch.” he said coldly “or I’ll blow the cubs away too.”
“No!” she cried. “Please don’t Gordon. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything you ask, please don’t hurt them.”
Donny came from the shadows at him, his spear cocked and ready to throw and the panther leaped for him, a snarl on its lips. Gordon whipped the gun around and fanned the hammer faster than an eye blink. He sent a dozen rounds into the panther and Donny and everyone shrieked as they were sent flying across the room and crumpled to the floor. Buckets of blood poured out of them, painted the walls red and saturated the carpet. The rest of the animals fled away or cowered in the corners.
“Anybody else want to try me?” he asked as the smoke curled up from the barrel of his gun and framed his face.
Cody fell to his knees and the rest followed his lead. They bowed to him. He snapped his fingers at Harper and she came. Hesitant at first but she melted when he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Things are going to be different around here.” he said, “I’m running the show and if anybody gives me any trouble…”
Gordon aimed the gun right between the eyes of the image in the mirror then screamed and dropped it when it went off, shattering the glass and creating a deafening roar in the room. He snatched it off the carpet and ran. Gunshots attracted the undead, that’s what Cody always said. Who knows, it might be true. He wasn’t going to hang around and find out.
It was true.
Gordon heard them coming, heard their keening cries of hunger and got off the road. He went down the embankment and slipped behind a root bundle of a fallen tree near the icy waters of the Mississippi. Sound carried for a long way in the stillness of the new world and he heard them run by, flapping shoes slapping the pavement or bare feet worn down to bones making their own haunting sound. He waited for a long time after he heard something dragging itself along the asphalt but no more came. Just that half dozen or so. They had been close, maybe at the next farmhouse up the road so it was probably a good thing he’d fired off that shot. If he hadn’t, they might have caught him by surprise. Gordon smiled despite the cold because the fates were taking care of him. They always smiled on a Lowery. He dragged himself out of the mud and cut through the woods until he found the road again and started the long trek north. A half mile later, he saw where the runners had come from. There was an old-fashioned country church and from the tattered clothes and shoes around the front door, it looked like they had been hanging around it for a while. He wondered if there were survivors inside and crept closer to listen. He heard them milling around and chanced a peep through a stained-glass wi
ndow set high in the stone wall. It was full of the undead, scores of them, just bumping around the pews and stumbling over each other. There would be no shelter there. He snuck away and kept moving north.
Before the world went to hell Gordon and his friends would have ruined a punk like Cody. They would have ridiculed and scorned him for his Walmart clothes and his job shoveling dung. They would have made his life in high school miserable. What kind of people even thought about work until after at least four years of college? Trash, that’s what kind, he thought with disdain. The platinum Visa still in his wallet had ensured Gordon never wanted for anything. That was the difference between him and them. They didn’t know any better. They were content to wallow in the muck and eat garbage food and live like animals. He wasn’t. He was a Lowery. He knew better. He knew living like a medieval peasant in some drafty old hovel wasn’t his lot in life. He deserved better and he would have better.
He walked all day, eyes constantly searching for danger. He’d seen the pack of coyotes following him, always at a distance. He had been tempted to take a shot or yell at them but he didn’t. He was afraid of what the noise might attract. The houses were few and far between on this desolate stretch of road and some of them had people inside. Dead people. He could see them wandering around, wearing a path in the rug. At one of the farms he found a small utility vehicle, some kind of John Deere ATV but it wouldn’t start. The key was in it but nothing happened when he turned it. He couldn’t tell if there were zombies in the house and he didn’t want to chance it. He slept in the barn that night wrapped in a smelly horse blanket. The owner was in his stall but he didn’t stink much, he’d probably been dead since right after the outbreak. Starvation most likely.
Animals Page 20
