The Decaying World Saga (Book 1): Tribes of Decay (15 page)

Jacob dusted himself off. The immediate threat was gone, but the dead were still coming. Mia’s head spun back and forth between the bodies of the infected and several figures stepping out of the grass along the city boundary. They were dressed head to toe in bizarre patterns of browns and greens. One of them pointed at Mia and waved them forward.

“What was that?” Mia asked, still trying to wrap her mind around what happened. “That noise…how did they do that?”

Jacob grabbed her hand again and pulled. “Guns,” he said, “they have guns.”

Mia had heard the word before, but she only had a vague idea of what the weapons truly were.

“How?”

They were running when Jacob responded.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” The strain showed in his legs. He leaned forward, trying to force himself to keep moving. “We have to make it to them.”

Mia and Jacob were a few feet away before the first of the new arrivals spoke.

“Move your asses,” he yelled behind a scarf wrapped around most of his face. “Maddox, you and Arron get to the front.” Two of the men at the end of the row pushed into the grass without question. “We’ll move the entire group out to the last rally point before we stop again.”

Mia wasn’t sure what to think, but neither the speaker nor any of the others gave her time to reconsider. The rest of the team stepped into the grass and disappeared. Jacob slowed as he neared the boundary. The speaker lowered the barrel of his rifle and pulled the scarf down around his neck. The youthful face hidden underneath surprised Mia.

“My name’s Connor Weaks,” he announced with more bass in his voice than his face would otherwise suggest.

“You’ve got two names?” she asked.

A grin slid across his face.

“Just Connor will do,” he replied. “Is there any more of your group?”

Mia struggled to find a response, still locked on the young man’s eyes.

“Only the survivors in the grass,” Jacob cut in.

Connor nodded.

“Then we’ll take it from here.”

Mia wasn’t sure where they were going, but for the moment she felt safer than she had in a long time.

15

The night’s sky spilled darkness across the tall grass of the outlands. A growing chill in the air pierced the thickest of coverings. Winter was a difficult time in and around Cheyenne; however, it was much too early in the season for the inevitable snowfall to begin. Rowan took slow, determined steps. He managed to wrap Garret’s wounded leg well enough to help him keep what little strength remained.

Neither Rowan nor Garret knew where they were going. The massive army of the dead was far ahead. The constant swaying of the grass pointed out the path that the horde was on, but it gave no hint at their destination. Rowan was singularly focused. He knew he’d never get another look at the survivors stabled down in the undead valley beyond the forest, but he was hopeful he could find out who was being herded by the infected group leading the dead.

“We’ve got to eat soon,” Garret whispered.

Rowan nodded and then considered the implications. He knew the dead wouldn’t need to stop, but the infected could not march forever.

“I don’t want to get stuck out here in the open,” Garret added.

Rowan couldn’t argue with that. “We could try and reach the trees,” he said. “Whenever they stop.”
If they stop
, he thought. “I wish there was a way,” he lifted himself up on his tiptoes and looked across the top of the field, “that we could get a look at those survivors.”

“We’re not even certain they were survivors,” Garret reminded him.

That too was true. Rowan was more hopeful than anything else, and apparently he was more hopeful that Garret as well. The two tribesmen couldn’t be more opposite from one another. Garret had always been filled with a self-assurance that reminded Rowan of Darian.

Rowan kept walking, now angling their direction toward the wood line on the distant side of the field. A full moon lighted the way between the high-grass. The pale light produced looming shadows that appeared to reach out from in-between the tall cottonwood trees. The remaining walk took twice as long to cover, mostly because of Rowan’s instance on stopping every few steps to rise up and ensure the shifting mass was still moving ahead of them. Garret leaned against a tree and kept his eyes on Rowan, waiting for the next set of directions.

“We could move much faster within the woods,” Rowan said. “If you’re up for it.”

Garret nodded, but Rowan wasn’t convinced. They took a few minutes to rest and sip the water from Rowan’s pouch. Garret was first to start moving again. Rowan let him take the lead.

The woods were easier to traverse, although the moonlight faded under the canopy. It didn’t take long for the sounds of the stomping mass of undead to reach the alert ears in the woods. Rowan tapped Garret on the shoulder and brought them to a stop. A wide array of twinkling stars filled the heavens above the open grassland. Rowan looked back in the direction they'd come, searching for the familiar outline of buildings long behind them. The moment was so profound that he couldn’t stop a question from escaping his lips.

“What are we going to do?”

Garret gave the question considerable thought before settling on his answer with a heavy sigh.

“I think the city belongs to them now,” he said. “If the tribe,” he stopped and then corrected himself, “If what’s left of the tribe is going to survive, it’s not going to be in Cheyenne.”

The sentiment was strong enough to pull Rowan’s attention back to the trek ahead. He took a step forward and a sudden realization froze him in place. The look on Garret’s face told him that he’d felt it too. They whispered the discovery together.

“They stopped.”

The grassland was eerily quiet. The wind blew in across the top of the field from the east. Every blade of grass swayed in a perfect unison, rising and falling with the gentle breeze. The apparent stop of the horde brought a terrifying realization to the forefront as a soft, whimpering cry rose on the wind. Rowan started forward.

“They’re going to feed.”

The sound of the declaration was enough to spur Garret to walk faster. Rowan had no idea what he was about to do, but he was certain that if he and Garret had any hope of saving the few remaining survivors, they would have to do it now. They crept along as fast as their terrified minds would allow. The slow crawl came to a stop when the distinct sound of footsteps reached the space between the trees.

Garret brought his finger to his lips and Rowan acknowledged it. They scanned the top of the grass, trying to hone in on the footsteps. Garret found it first. Rowan’s heart stopped when Garret grabbed on to his shirt and pointed. Rowan’s shudder wore off fast enough to find the parting grass only a few feet away.

Garret was moving before Rowan could process what was happening. They stepped in to the grass and Rowan pulled his knife from his belt with one hand then reached out and grabbed onto Garret’s belt with the other. They took several long strides in unison before coming to a stop. Rowan took a knee and waited. Garret leaned back and whispered in his ear.

“What now?”

The question came with a certain dose of shock on its own. Garret’s inquiry let him know that he was expecting Rowan to come up with a plan. Rowan held still and waited. The footsteps drew closer, joined by a deep gasping breath. It took a moment for Rowan to recognize the quiet sobs buried beneath the breathing. He got down on both knees and pushed the grass aside. The dark silhouette of a frail frame leaned against one of the trees at the edge of the woods. A pair of bulging eyes locked onto him and Rowan rushed out into the open as a woman opened her mouth.

“Wait,” he said, trying to whisper and yell at the same time. “Don’t scream.”

She kept her mouth open, but a realization that the figure rushing toward her wasn’t going to eat her hit her mind a moment before the shriek escaped. Rowan heard Garret step out behind him and his appearance nearly caused the woman to go through with her cry.

“He’s with me,” Rowan explained.

Garret came to a stop at Rowan’s side. Neither of them recognized the woman. She didn’t yell but her mouth remained open as she slid down the tree trunk and landed on her butt. They let her catch her breath until she was ready to say something.

“Where am I?”

“Cheyenne,” Garret said.

Her head shot up.

“God. I didn’t know how far we’d come.”

“We who?” Rowan asked.

“My tribe,” she said. “We’re from Denver.”

Rowan knew the name, but he wasn’t sure he could point it out on a map if he had to.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Erin.”

“I’m Rowan, that’s Garret.”

“We have to get out of here,” she said getting back to her feet. “They’re going to find us.”

“Were you part of that group of survivors the infected were marching?”

Erin flipped the bangs of her stringing brown hair behind her ears as her eyes went from Rowan to the view of the grassland behind them. He waited for a response but his patience wore thin.

“We’re looking for someone,” he said. “Another girl and her little brother.” He waited again for a response that didn’t come. “Do you know all of the other survivors in the group?”

She appeared to snap back from somewhere else and shook her head.

“They kept us in different stalls,” she said. “Most of my family was eaten, the others infected.”

Rowan didn’t want to hear the rest, but Erin’s tale confirmed his need to act.

“Come on,” he said then grabbed her by the hand. “Show us where they’re keeping them.”

Erin snatched her hand away from him.

“I can’t find it in the dark and there’s no way I’m going back anyway,” she said as she started to walk away. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Garret reached for her but missed.

“What about the others?”

She continued to back away, replying much too loud for Rowan’s comfort.

“I don’t give a damn about them.”

Erin turned and ran deeper into the woods.

“Should we go after her?” Garret asked.

Rowan shook his head.

“Let her go. We’ve got bigger problems.”

♦

The sound washing over the tops of the grass produced a terrible mental picture. The feeding had begun. Rowan fought the urge to rush forward, sure that it would quickly lead to his demise. He and Garret moved north inside the woods until the sounds of the infected and the dead were close enough to steal their breaths.

Rowan and Garret were down on their knees. Their long knives felt worthless against the size of the decaying mass out in the grassland. Garret moved far enough away from the trees that he could reach out and touch the grass. Rowan joined him and they waited for the courage to go any further.

“This is as close as I can guess.” Garret’s whispers were so light that his lips had to touch Rowan’s ear for him to hear his words. “We go in here.”

They guessed from their last view of the survivors that they were being kept in a tight group. They used the sounds as their guide. The dead didn’t whimper. The infected didn’t cry. Those sounds were reserved for the terrified living. Garret turned his head to talk and Rowan felt his lips tremble against his ear.

“We have to stay close if there’s any chance of us getting out alive.”

The plan was terrible, but neither of them could come up with a better one. There was no telling when the infected would force the dead to move again. The need for a quick response drove a plan that guaranteed conflict. The only hope for success was getting through one side of the line of dead surrounding the survivors and then relying on the sheer terror of the moment to get the living to run faster than they ever had before. Rowan was up and stepping into the grass before he realized they had no idea what they were going to do after that. He figured it would be a miracle if they got that far.

The full moon was high in the night sky and the light provided a particularly clear view. Neither the dead nor the infected could technically see in the dark, however the infected compensated with other heightened senses. That knowledge didn’t help Rowan. If they found themselves face to face with the infected, there was little chance they would survive. The only hope of success was getting in and out as quickly as possible.

Rowan took a series of steps then stopped. Garret slowly moved in close behind him. They waited for several agonizing seconds until they picked up on the subtle sound of crying. Rowan tried to lock on to the delicate sobs and then used it to guide him forward. The slow process continued for several minutes until a new sound brought the duo to a halt.

Rowan recognized it first and the clutching grab on his shirt told him Garret identified it a heartbeat later. They were shifting steps, awkward and uncoordinated, several pairs slowly moving back and forth. The dead were close. Rowan readjusted his grip on his knife and tried to get his hands to stop shaking. He knew he had to move, but he couldn’t force himself to take another step. Garret shoved him from behind and he resisted. The courage he’d used to go out into the field failed him.

Garret was around him before Rowan knew it. A sudden rustling in the grass led to their first confrontation. Rowan took a step forward to find Garret’s arms wrapped around the neck of a zombie. The vile thing had a handful of Garret’s hair. Strips of loose skin hung in tatters from a stump that remained of its other arm.

Garret was attempting to drive his knife into its brain, but the tip of the blade was stuck in the skull. Rowan ran toward them and plunged his knife into its eye as the first note of a calling moan escaped its throat. The attack hit with such force that Garret had to pull away in order to avoid catching the end of Rowan’s knife as it burst from the back of the creature’s head.

Rowan’s heart thundered in his chest at a ferocious rate. He used the gush of energy to keep himself moving. The whimpering cries of the living were closer than ever before. Three long strides brought them to an unexpected clearing. The survivors lay littered in small groups within the space, lying on the tall grass. The instant recognition of what they’d found was immediately interrupted by the detection of a trolling zombie guarding the spot. A succession of piercing cries led to a panicked response.

“Run.”

Rowan didn’t know why he yelled the command, but it was too late to do anything about it. The survivors that still had the strength to move were up and running. All at once, the grassland erupted with a hellacious chorus of dead-speak. The moans of the dead quickly followed as the tall grass came alive with frantic movement.

Zombies burst into the open space, lashing wildly at the panic-stricken survivors. Rowan only had a moment to search through the faces under the moonlight before he was confronted. A pair of undead women stepped in from the grass, one with its chest split open from the neck to the navel, the other with the bone showing through one side of its face and a half-eaten eyeball bouncing in its exposed socket.

They were on him before he could do anything about it. Rowan got his hands up before one of them latched its teeth on to the tip of his nose. The other zombie had its arms around him, forcing Rowan to slide his hand inside its exposed cavity, through the opening in its chest. Rowan leaned away to keep from getting bit, but he couldn’t hold back the full weight of both women.