Season Of Decay (The Decaying World Saga Book 2) (30 page)

Silence filled the space between them as they stared at one another. Mia rested her hand on the gun holstered at her side. A break in the silence nearly caused her to draw. The man lifted his head back and opened his mouth releasing a booming laugh. The charade continued until he settled his eyes back on Mia.

“My name is Commander Zeke and I don’t take orders from anyone, particularly little girls that I should take back to my tent and do with as I please.”

The comment had more impact than Mia cared to show. She kept her expression cold but her stomach churned.

“This is the new deal,” she said firmly.

Zeke’s grin faded.

“Why would I accept that?”

“You underestimated us,” she said. “And your confidence has left you vulnerable.”

“Is that so?”

Mia cut him off.

“We have power.”

Zeke swallowed whatever it was he was going to say, and for the first time, Mia felt like he was forced to take her seriously. The recognition brought with it a rush of courage.

“Your miscalculation will cost you,” she said. “I’m guessing you’ve spread your forces out all around us, but what you didn’t count on was the horde bearing down on us by the end of the day. And you surely didn’t calculate what that horde would do if Canaan was locked up tight.”

Zeke shifted his weight in the snow. Mia could nearly see him evaluating his options in his mind.

“Then there is no reason why I don’t shoot this boy right now.”

He put the barrel to the back of Jonah’s head and Mia drew her gun.

“If he dies, you die.”

Zeke smiled a terrifying smile then gestured at the long line of his forces in the distance behind him.

“Then we all die,” he said.

Mia leveled her sights on his head.

“Then we all die.”

Zeke studied her for a long time, neither of them moving a muscle. The stare off ended as he chuckled.

“I did underestimate you, girl,” he said then pulled Jonah up to his feet. “I’m going to enjoy having you all to myself.”

“In your dreams.”

Mia shoved Connor in the back and he started across the distance between them. Jonah and Connor passed one another and the boy ran to his sister. Mia never lowered her gun not even when Zeke put his back into his holster. Jonah slumped into her and she put an arm around him. The emotion proved too much and the gun waved in the air out in front of her. Zeke grabbed Connor by the collar, looked him in the eyes then shoved him to keep him going.

“This isn’t over,” Zeke said.

Mia put her gun away and untied Jonah. She kissed his forehead then pulled the rag from around his mouth. Mia helped him stand as she turned her back on Zeke.

“It is for today.”

They took several steps before he spoke again.

“There’s a war coming for you.”

Mia stopped and glanced at her enemy. She offered one final sentiment before continuing on her way.

“And we’ll be ready.”

THE END

Read on for a free sample of The Strange Dead

Michael W. Garza
often finds himself wondering where his inspiration will come from next and in what form his imagination will bring it to life. The outcomes regularly surprise him and it’s always his ambition to amaze those curious enough to follow him and take in those results. He hopes that everyone will find something that frightens, surprises, or simply astonishes them.

www.mwgarza.com

One | Summer 2048: The Field

Nightfall would bring the dead, and Death. But the sun was still pinned to the bright blue of Heaven’s firmament, pitched only slightly westward, away from the mountain wall against which Potter’s Field was buttressed. The warmth of midday was offset by a pleasant breeze, and it was in all-too-brief moments like these that Claire thought she must be feeling what it was to be alive, really alive.

She stood in a wide field at the foot of the mountain, separated from its steep, mossy slope by a high stone security wall. The field itself was fenced off to prevent livestock from wandering into the nearby “suburb,” the encampment’s tent city where residents made their homes. This was the calm part of Potter’s Field, an area graced now and then by gentle laughter, even silence. The suburb had intentionally been set apart from the community’s business end, where the soldiers trained and where, beyond the forward security wall, there was no mountain but a flat expanse of infertile earth which stretched to the horizon like a scab. The unspoiled land of the Field was the mar on this world where nature was rot.

Claire focused on the green grass beneath her feet and the smells on the air. Her horses had just been released from the stable and were fanning out in her direction. A couple trotted directly to her, and she looked up to receive a wet nose in the crook of her neck. Claire jumped with a laugh and patted Boy Blue’s head. Smoothing the black hair matted atop his crown, she thought he needed more than a brushing; all twelve of them, in fact, were probably due for a trip with Claire to the edge of the reservoir. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him wash his ass.” One of Andre’s many bon mots. Andre hadn’t been by today. Claire cast a glance toward the gravel road which ran beside the fence as she fished through a burlap bag fastened about her waist. She offered Boy Blue a palmful of feed. His younger brother, Rocket, nosed into the exchange, and Claire fetched another handful for him. It was meager in both amount and nutrients, but it was the best she could do for her kids most days. The little bit of farmland the Fielders had managed to cultivate and maintain was used to grow food for the people. Claire had been granted a little corner and a pittance of grains. Despite the importance of the horses – motor vehicles were an indistinct memory, almost like something out of a campfire tale – she received little aid in tending her crop. Andre, when he was on KP (which was more often than most, thanks to his bon mots), would sometimes sneak some carrot shavings into his pockets and bring them to the stable. “Rules are for those who need them,” he’d say. “It’s an equalizer, Clarissa.” Clarissa wasn’t her real name, and he knew that, but she allowed it. “Rules,” he’d go on, “keep the sharks and snakes in check around the mice. For the rest of us, those who just know better than to eat their own, rules are meant to be bent.”

Claire wasn’t sure if she agreed with that. But half the time, even after all these years, she couldn’t tell if Andre was completely serious or not. Fifteen years she’d known the man, most of her life. She’d been seven when he pulled her out of the MCM. Everything before that was a blurred tapestry whose designs only took shape in her worst nightmares. Andre, who was in his twenties then, hadn’t known her before the MCM, and he’d had no luck tracking down anyone who did. But that was the way of things. Sometime around 2028, a big cleaver had fallen from the sky and severed history’s vein.

The other horses had gathered around Claire, and she gave each equal attention. They ranged in age from five to fifteen. Blue was the oldest, and though he may have had many years ahead of him in the world before, Claire was seeing the signs of age. It was her job, had been for half a lifetime. Blue had been her first charge, and she knew he would be the first she lost. She took the brush from her belt and began combing it through his mane. “You’re an old boy,” she said, and smiled a little. Blue stood still, his eye fixed on her, as she worked her way down his coat.

“These guys get better treatment than a general,” came a voice from behind her. She recognized it and chose not to acknowledge it. She heard the man rapping his knuckles on the wooden fence. “Hey, Claire! You in there?”

“Just enjoying the silence,” she called over her shoulder. The man let out a thin laugh. She heard the fence creaking under his weight and bristled. The horses stamped their hooves; it was gentle, but a warning.

“Best stay back, John,” Claire said.

“Why don’t these guys like anyone but you?”

“They like plenty of people,” Claire said, putting the brush away. This wasn’t going to end anytime soon. If there was one thing Johnny Idaho could do, it was talk. Didn’t mean he was any good at it.

She finally turned. Idaho was dressed in his weathered fatigues, though his shirt was open. He cocked his blond head and offered a leery grin. “They like the people you like,” he said.

“They’re good at reading people,” Claire said, brushing a few bits of feed from her palms. “And like I said, you best stay back. Can’t just come walking into their house.”

“I’m one of the reasons they have a home,” Idaho said. His grin was still half-there but, as usual, it didn’t take much to wind him up. “Nice big field to shit in. Some of the families would like the schoolhouse relocated up here by the suburb. Potter says no way.” Idaho hitched up his pants. “I agreed with him.”

“That must have helped.”

“Young lady, a lot of people don’t think about anyone but themselves. I’m a soldier. My job’s about everyone but me.”

Claire nodded, slowly, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you ever going to leave me alone?”

Idaho snorted, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. At Claire’s shoulder, Blue offered a snort in reply.

“You know what else?” Idaho said, steamrolling right over what she’d asked. “Some people think your animals are a health risk.”

“I don’t need to hear it,” Claire said. “There’s never been a case of a horse being infected. Or a dog, or a bird, or anything else. The bugs don’t work inside animals.”

“Lots of stories, though.”

“If I believed everything I heard, I wouldn’t allow you within fifty yards of me or this field,” Claire said. She hadn’t intended to flare up like that, but she wasn’t about to hear any baseless rumors about her horses.

Idaho looked taken aback. His countenance darkened and he said, “Lots of stories, kid. And people who aren’t so willing to gamble with their lives on these dumb things.”

Claire steeled her expression and said nothing. If it weren’t for the terrible consequence, she would have already sicced Rocket on him. He didn’t know just how loyal her kids were.

Idaho shrugged. “Just wanted to let you know. I think you do good work. Thought you ought to know some of us still appreciate you.”

As if she were some pariah in the community. Claire wasn’t about to let any of this jerkoff’s implications take root in her mind. She turned her back to him and began checking Rocket’s eyes and teeth.

She had the feeling that Idaho was retreating when she heard him call, “Hey, Dozens!” Shit. Hell of a time for Andre to show up.

“What’re you doing in there, Johnny?” Andre called back. Claire heard him clamber over the fence. The horses didn’t react to Andre’s approach. “Hasn’t Claire told you these beasts will bite your dick off?”

Andre stepped into Claire’s view, patting Rocket’s head. “KP?” Claire asked.

“K is for carrot,” Andre said with a smile. He emptied the pockets of his fatigues. Luckily, he knew how to hold out offerings for the horses to take, otherwise Rocket’s lunging bite would have snapped off a few fingers.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Idaho asked. He didn’t step any closer, though.

“Relax, Idaho, this is what they threw out from the mess tent. Unfit for human consumption.” Andre winked at Claire.

“Probably tastes better than what I had for breakfast,” Idaho retorted.

“Don’t let Potter hear you say that,” Andre replied. “You know they’re going to name the mulch-wich after him.”

Claire watched as Andre fed the other horses. As unkempt as their manes looked today, none held a candle to Andre’s afro. General Potter was strict as they came, but he’d taken a liking to Andre, as most did, and had let him keep his hair. Idaho had a regulation cut and razor burn all over his chin and neck. Kept you from being snatched by the hair, they said. Kept your sights clear. Less chance of picking up lice. But Andre was an unapologetic individual, something he’d passed that on to Claire.

Natural that someone like Johnny Idaho would resent that, and Claire knew he did, but Idaho was always tagging along after Andre like some lost puppy. Maybe he was hoping some of that goodwill would rub off on him. In truth, Claire pitied Johnny. She wished he could see that. Maybe then he’d leave her alone. Then again…he had a short fuse. Perhaps it was better just to hold him at arm’s length where she could keep an eye on him.

General Potter, for his part, figured anyone assigned to an isolated encampment like this one was capable of handling their own problems. Andre had approached him once about guys giving Claire a hard time – not that she’d asked – but Potter wasn’t hearing any of it. For a general to be running the show out here, there had to be much bigger fish to fry. It was about the old power station on the mountainside. That was why the Field had been established here.

As Claire turned these thoughts over in her head, she and Andre made small talk. She knew Idaho was still loitering somewhere behind them. He’d get the message. Probably.

#

Once he had, Claire relaxed and Andre told her about the goings-on around the Field. “Couple of guys from the Church with a capital C came by the gate this morning,” he said. “A botar and a feder. Wanted to set up a tent show inside the wall.”

“Missionaries must be going out of their way to witness here,” Claire said. She batted at a fly that was doing aerial stunts around Rocket’s face. Rather than flee, it set about bothering her. She tossed her shoulder-length hair from side to side until the insect was gone.

“You look more and more like your kids every day,” Andre said. “No offense.”

“None taken, shrub.”

Andre let out a hearty laugh that startled the horses grazing at the other end of the field. “You talking about my hair? This fro is a historical landmark.”

“It’s starting to look its age,” Claire said with a wry smile. “You can really see the gray when the sun’s just overhead.”

“Well, now I’m depressed.” Andre shoved his hands into his pockets in mock reproach. “You cut deep, Clarissa.”

He scratched at the stubble beneath his nose and said, “Yeah, we’re well off the beaten path for feders. But I’ll bet they prefer it that way. People tend to be more on edge out in the middle of nowhere. More open to…‘answers.’”

“So what happened? Were they turned away?”

“Eventually. Potter talked to them for a bit, but you know he wasn’t about to let them in.”

Claire shrugged. “Would it have been so bad?”

“I hear that once the Church gets a foot in,” Andre said, “they start wanting to be involved in strategy and then economy. It’s less about guiding specific people than ‘the people’ altogether.” He made finger quotes as he spoke, and Claire nodded.

Andre went on. “Besides, the way they tell it, God’s already everywhere. You want to talk to Him, talk to Him.”

He set about beating the dust from his pants, which meant he was about to go off on some long tangent. Claire didn’t mind so long as the horses didn’t.

“You’d find it hard to believe, but there was a time when people wanted this,” Andre said. “I mean the fall of Man. God’s got a lot of faces and He’s made a lot of promises. People were tired of waiting for Ye Olde Apocalypse for the return on their investment.”

“Investment?”

“Faith, works, whatever. And I don’t guess it’s just those people – a lot of folks who didn’t believe in God at all wanted to see the End Times come and go without so much as a fart from the heavens, wanted to know that they were right.”

“What does it matter when this is the world we get now?” Claire shook her head.

“Amen,” Andre said. “But if you feel like the world you got is a wash and it’s never going to do right by you, you might just feel desperate enough to hunger for the end.”