The Survivors (Book 2): Autumn (21 page)

“Oh, so you changed your mind, did you?” he growled and shook me roughly, unconcerned by the weapon in my hands
.  “You know, I was going to let you stay with me and my boys once I killed your friends, show you what a real man looks like.  Pretty, white girl like you? Could have had some fun, you and me – but now I think I’ll just kill you as well.”

“I hate to tell you, but I’ve already got a real man,” I answered him breathlessly, feeling a surge of victory despite the danger I was in
.  “So this seems way more appropriate.  A swine like you deserves nothing better.”

My dark smile must have alerted him that something was amiss
.  He glanced back over his shoulder just as the huge boar burst through the underbrush, and bowled him over from behind.  His grip on me faltered, and I was ready for it.  I twisted away just in time, and ducked behind a tree out of the sight of the incoming beasts.

For all his size, the man was only human, while the infected boar was the largest I’d ever seen
.  It bore him effortlessly to the ground, and then it was on him, attacking viciously.  Hidden from sight, I heard rather than saw when the sow joined in the attack, but I could barely hear their squeals over the man’s screams.

Suddenly, I felt nauseated about what I’d done
.  I reminded myself that it was for the sake of my lover and our innocent young charge.  That man would have killed them both for no better reason than the colour of their skin.  If those bloodstains were anything to go by, we had not been the first victims of his gang.  He deserved a horrible fate.

While the pigs were both completely focused on their attack, I ducked out of my hiding spot and ran as fast as my legs could carry me
.  Even though I’d been the instrument of that man’s well-deserved destruction, I could not bear to watch the creatures kill and eat another human being.

His screams rang through the forest behind me as I fled to the east, putting as much distance between myself and the grisly scene as I could.

I ran like a madman, ducking and dodging through the undergrowth despite the constant risk of personal injury
.  A few minutes later, I found the road again, far to the east of the little town.  I froze and stared all around, listening to the sounds of the wilderness until I was certain that I was alone.  Sticking to the road would be dangerous, but I could travel faster if I took that route.  It only took a second to decide, and then I was off again.

I ran as hard as I could for as long as I could along that cracked grey ribbon, until my breath seared in my lungs and my heart started making a serious effort to bust its way out of my ribcage
.  The late summer sun beat down on me mercilessly, and sweat carved rivulets through the sunscreen protecting my skin.

Eventually, I had to slow down to a walk
.  By that stage I judged that I had probably put three or four kilometres between me and my enemies.  I didn’t stop, though.  I couldn’t stop until I knew Michael and Priya were safe.  I was alone, but I was well-armed and in my element.  My concern was for them, not me.

On my own, I moved much more quickly than I had when I was with the others
.  Weeks of good food had begun to restore my body to a decent state of health; I felt better than I had in as long as I could remember.  My foot had adjusted to the rigors of travel once the muscles had time to warm up and stretch, too.  Although it ached, it was an ache that I understood and could safely ignore.  I knew it wasn’t an injury anymore, just a mild discomfort.

When my lungs had recovered, I eased myself back up to a trot
.  After a few hundred metres, I slowed to a walk to recover, pacing myself for the long haul.

Water was a concern
.  Michael had most of our supply in his backpack, and the small bottle I kept in my pocket to sip as we walked was almost empty.  I took a swig from the bottle anyway, since there was no point conserving it.  If worse came to worst, I could always boil river water.  Right now, I was parched and sweating.  My body needed water to keep going.

The trees hung low over both sides of the road, granting me a temporary respite from the heat
.  I paused for a moment to listen, but I heard nothing that indicated a threat.  The birds still sang contentedly in the trees, and the wind rustled the branches.  Everything seemed safe and calm, with nothing to indicate any danger nearby.

I continued on, guiding myself up to a loping trot for another few hundred metres
.  As I ran, I found myself thinking that something good had come out of the attack: running for our lives had put us back on track to reach the power station before nightfall.

The thought made me smile
.  Perhaps Michael’s positive attitude was starting to rub off on me after all.  I decided that it was best not to think about the other things that had happened; the sun was shining too brightly for me to dwell on morbid thoughts.  Instead, I focused on keeping myself alert for danger.  I had no idea how many members of the neo-Nazi gang were in the area, so I chose my path carefully in case they decided to track me.  Each footfall connected only with solid tarmac; I crushed no blades of grass with my weight, and avoided any patches of gravel that might leave a footprint behind.

It was strange to think that I had learned so much about tracking over the years
.  I’d begun life as a city girl, raised in pleasant suburbia without a care in the world.  But when the plague had come, I found myself on my own and often under attack.  I had learned the way of our new wilds, and fast.  That was how I’d survived all these years.

I was no genius but I wasn’t stupid
.  Logic dictated that a footprint didn’t leave itself, that a healthy leaf or flower bud didn’t break without reason.  I’d learned to look for those signs, and to listen to the world around me for the telltale markers of something that didn’t belong.  After spending so much time on high alert, that sense had become second nature to me.  For a while, in Hamilton and later Ohaupo, my sense of the world had begun to fade away – but the moment I returned to the familiar places I used to call home, that sense came back to me in force.

Everything I knew I’d learned the hard way, because I had been lucky enough to survive my mistakes
.  I learned which wild berries I could eat by watching the birds.  In the early days, roaming the bush starving and alone, I ate a berry from a tree.  It had made me so violently ill that I had been unable to move for hours.  While I’d lain in the leaf-litter, recovering, I had noticed that the birds flitting around in the canopy above me avoided the fruit from that particular tree.  Instead, they favoured the product of another tree.  When my stomach recovered, I tried a few of those berries instead, and discovered that they were safe for me to eat.

I could survive in the bush if I had to, and I wasn’t afraid to retreat to the wild places if the urban regions became too
dangerous for me.  However, I generally still preferred the urban life.  It was easier to find food and water, and it was more likely for the amenities to still be functioning in town than it was in rural areas.

But, the bush was safer
.  There, I could hide and live wild.  I had learned to listen to Mother Nature and to trust her, even when she was in one of her more capricious moods.  The sights, sounds, and smells were familiar to me, and I generally knew how to respond to them.  I could only imagine that was how Priya had survived all these years, too.  Trial and error, and learning to trust nature to provide a solution.  When it came down to it, we were all Mother Nature’s children.  Some of us had just forgotten that.

My mind drifted at random as I travelled east, running a few hundred metres then walking a few hundred
.  As a teenager, I’d read a book that had recommended that method as the most efficient way for a human on foot to travel without exhausting themselves.  That knowledge had served me well over the years.  My nostrils flared wide with each breath, drawing air deep into my lungs to power the efficient hydraulics of my body.

It was during one such breath in that I caught a scent on the breeze that was out of place
.  The wind blew from the east, and it carried with it the acrid smell of gunpowder, and coppery scent of blood.  Ahead of me, the road bent slightly and sank down behind a small hill.  I slowed to a walk and brought my shotgun up in case I needed it.

As I crept towards the bend, I eased myself into a low crouch-walk, my senses extended and alert
.  The birds still sang on, aside from the few directly above me.  My small size, soft footfalls, and the dark green camouflage print of my clothing meant that I bothered them much less than a grown man thundering through the brush – or worse, a pig.

Of course, there might be someone hiding nearby that was as savvy in the rules of bush-law as I was, but I would not know until I sensed him
.  Regardless of the risk, I followed the road rather than moving into the underbrush, and stepped carefully around the bend until the source of the smell came into view.  A human body lay in the middle of the road ahead of me, blood pooling on the tar seal beneath it.

The corpse was so fresh that the blood had barely begun to congeal in the hot sun
.  I stared at the brush nearby for a long minute until I was sure there was nobody watching, then I crept closer to the body to get a better look.

It was a man, sprawled on his back with dead eyes staring blankly at the sky
.  He was clad in battle dress, just as the massive soldier had been, but wore no body armour.  That mistake had cost him his life: his chest was riddled with bloody wounds.  I judged by their location and the way his body lay that he’d died nearly instantly, in a hail of high-powered bullets.

A fold of his clothing half-concealed something
.  Curious and analytical, I prodded the corpse with my boot to clear the cloth away.  It revealed an empty holster on his hip, big enough to hold an automatic pistol and a couple of spare clips.  The holster was empty now, and a quick glance around revealed no sign of the weapon or the ammunition.

I did see shell casings though, small ones, probably from a 9mm gun like the one that this man had carried
.  In my mind, I turned the physical evidence over and replayed the scene a few different ways until I had a clear picture of what must have occurred.

The dead man had fired first, I guessed; he must have done, as the wounds in his chest were from a heavier weapon
.  For there to be shells from his weapon on the ground, he must have opened fire before the person with the heavy weapon shot him.  The corpse was facing east, and I recognised the wounds in his chest as entry rather than exit wounds.

The scenario crystallized in my head: this man had been following someone heading east
.  He had approached them from behind and opened fire, and they had in turn killed him in self-defence and taken his weapon.  Michael.  It had to be.

I had told him to stick to the forest, but it didn’t surprise me that he had gotten lost along the way
.  His sense of direction in the wilds was still developing, which was why I was our guide.  I was just relieved that by some dumb luck he’d found the road instead of wandering off in the wrong direction.  Even he could follow a road.  As far as I could tell, he was going in the right direction.

I left the corpse, not caring if the man was the victim of pests or animals this time
.  He was nothing to me, someone that wanted to hurt me and my family.  He deserved no respect in death.

A dozen metres further down the road, my boot struck something small and sent it tumbling across the asphalt with a metallic chime
.  I paused to look, and discovered the shell casings from the heavier weapon scattered across the ground.  Although I couldn’t be sure, I was fairly certain that they’d come from Michael’s rifle.

Unfortunately, I also spotted something that worried me
.  Sprinkled amongst the fallen shells were a few droplets of dark crimson, that were rapidly turning brown in the heat: blood.  One of my companions was injured.  Which one, I couldn’t tell.  Spurred on by concern, I picked up to a run and headed eastwards as fast as my tired legs could carry me.  It was more than an hour past noon now, almost two, and my friends would be worried sick about me.

I was relieved to see the blood trailed off after only a few metres, meaning it had been staunched rather than left to bleed
.  That reassured me, but still I felt the overwhelming need to return to them as soon as possible.  I longed to feel Michael’s arms around me, holding me safe and warm.  Then there was Priyanka and her elderly pet; the girl had a smile that could light up the room, and I feared either she or the helpless animal might be the ones hurt.

I could not abide that thought, and it made me feel better about what I’d done to protect them
.  The guilt would come later, when I had time to brood – but for now I was busy, my thoughts and actions dictated by necessity.  There was no time for recriminations or regrets until after I knew my companions were safe.

***

An hour later, I was drawing close to the end of my reserves of strength.  My legs trembled with every step, but my resolve held strong.  I was almost there, I could sense it.  I’d covered many more kilometres, and I could feel the land beneath me beginning to slope gently downwards.  The bush grew denser and denser, until I was travelling through dark shade despite it being the heat of the afternoon.  The changes in the landscape around me told me the river must be nearby.

As I began to pad around a long, gentle curve in the road, I was startled by the sound of a human voice shouting
.  Another shouted back, but I couldn’t make out their words.  Then there were gunshots, rapid and piercing, from several different kinds of weapons.  I skidded to a halt as self-preservation kicked in.  Until I could see them, I couldn’t be sure who was shooting at whom.  It could be friends, it could be foes.  It could be both.

The shotgun held close against my chest, I pressed myself into the shadows of the undergrowth and crept around the bend at a wide angle
.  The paved plateau in front of the bridge opened up below me, providing a wide area of open ground that would leave me exposed if I moved much further.  There were two bodies there, sprawled out and still twitching, no more than a minute dead.

I glanced around cautiously and saw nothing besides the two of them
.  My heart hammered in my chest as I emerged from the shadows and snuck towards them to see if I could determine what had happened.  Both of the bodies were male, both in battle dress and at a glance I could see that both of them had been killed by a hail of high-calibre bullets.

It was only then that I sensed eyes upon me
.  I spun towards the bridge, with my shotgun raised automatically to defend myself.  I found myself looking at a familiar face on the other side of a longer barrel: Michael.

Both of us were still in fight or flight mode, so it took a second for what we were seeing to sink in
.  When it did, we both lowered our weapons and rushed to one another.  His longer strides covered the ground more swiftly than my exhausted ones, and he caught me before I made it a half-dozen steps.

Strong arms enveloped me and held me close
.  I buried my face in his sweating chest, luxuriating in the heat and the scent of his body.  A few months ago, I would never have imagined that I could find the odour of a sweaty man to be pleasant, let alone intoxicating – yet now, I did.  It was fresh and healthy, and it belonged to the man that I loved with all my heart.  I clung to him, overwhelmed by sensations of affection and relief so strong it made everything I’d done seem so worthwhile.