Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead Read online

  Char didn’t like time alone, and even though Grace sat buckled beside her, she wasn’t conscious. Char thought about how the days were long and full. They took turns sleeping, someone always on guard. They spent hours of daylight looking for food; hunting and fishing. Most nights they set new snares to catch rabbits, opossum, or anything unlucky enough to walk into the trap. Life was about surviving, and surviving was about having enough to eat so as to keep healthy. Since they reached the Blue Ridge Mountains, it had become easier. Not easy, just easier. She wanted Grace to wake up so she wasn’t forced to spend so much time thinking.

  It all changed about a month back when they crossed paths with Frank Broadhurst. . .

  Chapter 5

  One month ago . . . Parrottsville, TN — Cherokee National Forest

  Char winced. Every step she took felt like stepping on broken glass. It didn’t matter that they walked on plush, high grass. The backpacks they carried were full, stuffed with extra clothing and supplies looted from abandoned locations they came across. Hers was solid, the zipper seam strained with the constant threat of buckling. It was midday, and she coughed continuously.

  “You just going to keep doing that?” Sam said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Hacking a lung.”

  She cringed. “We need to find water. My throat is too dry. I can’t help it if I am having a hard time swallowing.”

  “We’re all thirsty,” Sam said.

  He was right. She knew she shouldn’t be whining. It had only been twenty or so hours since they last had water. The heat and humidity was the problem. It sapped her strength, and she was sure they felt the same.

  Tony was stopped along a wire fence.

  Grace, a few feet behind him, did a slow three-sixty, cautiously scanning everything with a furrowed brow. She kept one hand on her hip, the other on the handle of an aluminum baseball bat. Closer in age to Tony than to Sam, Grace was anything but motherly. You couldn’t make it during times like this by being too empathetic, sympathetic, or soft.

  Grace wore a dark bandana on her head as if it were a hat. It was tied with the small knot resting just above the back of her neck. The man’s white dress shirt was buttoned over a navy blue tank top. What Char focused on was always the leather biker vest, leather pants, and black biker boots. Grace was taller than Char was, but not by much. Maybe she was five-six, five-seven at the most. Her dark skin was shiny with sweat. She ran the back of her wrist across her forehead and the once white shirt cuff mopped away the dripping beads.

  “What are we doing here?” Sam ran up to the fence. It was low, three feet high with a set of wires routed from post to post outlining a good sized piece of property. “This electrified?”

  “Once,” Tony said. “Can’t imagine it is now.”

  Sam tentatively tried to slap at the wire with the tips of his fingers, but kept pulling his hand back before any actual wire to skin contact. As much as Tony begged to keep back stories to a minimum, Sam talked to them nearly every night. There wasn’t much they didn’t know about him. He’d lived with his parents and two younger sisters, and younger twin brothers. He’d just returned to Oklahoma University for his sophomore year, majoring in Computer Science. He thought it would be amazing going to college a few states south of home, of Chicago. Their tiny house was packed full of kids and chaos. It turned out he hated it. He missed being home, and surprisingly, missed his little annoying siblings.

  When the apocalypse hit, he was in his dorm still drunk from the night before, and had skipped class and ignored his cell phone. In doing so, he’d miss calls from his mother, from his brothers, and from his sisters telling them that dad was acting funny and that they’d locked him in the basement. Of course by the time he woke up and listened to his messages it was eight or nine hours later. None of them answered when he’d tried calling back. He never talked to or seen any of them since.

  Char grabbed the wire with both hands. “You know what, Sammy? If the fence was still electrified and you touched it even a little, you’d get electrocuted. Zapped. Fences like this probably had enough juice to cook you from the inside out. Huh, Tony?”

  Tony ducked down and climbed between the wires. Once on the other side, he held the top wire up for Grace and the others. “She is right, Sam. If you really think that wire might be live, how should you have handled it?”

  “Throw something at it.”

  Tony just raised his eyebrows. “So why didn’t you do that this time?”

  “If you thought it could be live, why didn’t you stop me?” Sam said.

  “It’s a fence to keep horses inside the perimeter. It’ll zap you; Char’s right. Won’t be much worse than that. Figured if it was live, I was willing to risk it,” he said.

  “Risk me getting shocked? That’s not right. Why would you do that? What if I had a bad heart?”

  “Do you?” Char asked.

  Sam clapped a hand to his chest and shook his head. “No, but you didn’t know that. I could have had one, a murmur or a pulse, a pup—”

  “Palpitation,” Grace said.

  Sam pointed at Grace. “That’s it. A pupitation.”

  “Palpitation.”

  “That. I could have had that and touched the wire, and bam, no more Sam!”

  “I touched it already,” Tony said.

  “You what?”

  “I already touched it. I knew it wasn’t live.”

  Sam, for once, was silent. He looked from Tony to Grace to Char. “But you didn’t know Tony had already touched it, or that it wasn’t live. You wrapped your hands around the wire.”

  Char shrugged. “I figured it wasn’t live. How many places have we been to with power?”

  “Since the four of us have been together?” Sam said.

  Grace looked tired of the conversation. “What are we doing here? Seems like you knew where we were headed the whole time.”

  “Passed by here once or twice. It’s like a dude ranch. It’s been like fifteen or twenty years since I’ve been out here. Used to come with my folks. It’s called the Meadow Creek Mountain Ranch, or Creek Meadow Mountain Ranch. Signs around front on the main lodge. They have these cool little cabins you rent, and stables with horses. We stopped to look around once. My mother loved it. Wanted us to stay. I remember my little sister and I took off running. We went right for the stable to see the horses. I think we were all a little disappointed when dad said we weren’t going to be staying there. He liked it a little more backwoods than cabins and lodges. Right now though, I appreciate the time we spent sleeping in tents, learning to trap and skin animals, and how to pick out the edible berries and mushrooms when they grow side by side with stuff that will kill you in minutes.”

  “I don’t see any stable,” Sam said, “or a lodge, or cabins.”

  “We’re in the field, Sammy,” Char said and huffed, to show she was annoyed. “Do you think there are still horses?”

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  “Then why are we here?”

  “There should be a well with a pump. Old fashioned running water,” Tony said, “and if we’re at all lucky, somewhere nice to set up camp for a bit. See what’s what. Ahead of us are the mountains. Blue Ridge. We’re going to cross out of Tennessee, and at that point kiss the warm weather away. See if we can dig up useful supplies like parkas, backpacks, tools.”

  “Horses would be cool,” Char said. She wasn’t going to mention the bottoms of her feet.

  “You know it,” Sam said.

  # # #

  Char used a pitchfork to toss hay around inside an empty stall. The stable did not contain a single horse. There were saddles, reins, bits, and riding whips.

  Her brother, Cash, would have loved coming to a ranch like this. He would have been fourteen now if he were still alive. It was his death, even more than their father’s death that plagued her dreams with nightmares. He was not bitten by a zombie, the infected. They never got close to him. No. His death was far more tragic. While she had be
en in charge of keeping an eye on him, a gunfight broke out. There were soldiers, Coast Guard, and other survivors, and it was all about moving a boat. Things escalated quickly. When it all went down, she’d been unable to protect him.

  Her father never blamed her. She always thought she could see it in his eyes, though. Soundless accusations that felt as real and painful as a punch.

  “Hey, daydreamer.”

  Char lifted the pitchfork, ready to use the long and sharp tines as a weapon. “Tony, you startled me.”

  He never should have been able to startle her. It meant that she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. You didn’t stay alive by daydreaming. That was wasting time. Fantasy worlds did not exist, and having thoughts like that would turn a person soft. There was no room on her body, in her mind, for soft. She was solid, a rock.

  Tony sauntered up to the stall. He crossed his arms and rested them on the wood gate. “If you’re all done with your chores, ma’am, there’s somethin’ I’d like to show ya.”

  She laughed. His southern accent was right-on. He already sounded like a man born and raised in Texas, but the added hillbilly drawl just added to routine. “Cows done been milked already, I ‘spose if you be needen’ to show me somethin’, then let’s go have a looksee.”

  “Looksee? Is that Little House on the Prairie-like?”

  “Depends,” Char said.

  “Depends on what?”

  “What is Little House on the Prairie?”

  Tony shook his head. He grabbed a length of coiled rope and ran his arm through the center like he was sliding into a jacket. The rope rested on his shoulder. “Grab some more rope. Follow me,” he said as he walked out of the stables.

  Tony did not look back, but forged forward. Char walked close behind and slowed to smile at Grace who sat squat in front of the water pump. Sam worked the arm up and down. Clean, clear water spilled from the spigot, slowly filling the basin in front of Grace.

  “Where you guys going?” Sam said.

  Char just shrugged and hurried to catch up to Tony.

  They crossed a field and stopped when they came to the wire fence outlining the back edge of the property. “There,” he said.

  Two horses meandered about eating grass.

  She tightened her grip on the rope. “Think they’re from this ranch?”

  “I’m betting they are. Probably ran away when things were chaotic, but this is home for them. Could be more around, too. Figured, if we can get close, not spook them, maybe we can use them. Take a load off your feet. I know they’ve been hurting you. We can take turns riding or something.”

  She loved the idea and smiled to show how she felt. “We’re going to have horses?”

  # # #

  They cooked rabbit on spits over a small fire. The horses were safe in the stables. Char had spent several hours cleaning them up and brushing them down. She was anxious to ride them. Tony advised giving it a day or two to let them get acclimated to being domesticated once again. Made sense. While she sat around the fire, all she could think about was having a horse. She knew which one she wanted, the black one with patches of white. She decided to name him Dispatch, in memory of her father. Tony didn’t have an interest in naming his horse. He made no bones about his attachment issues.

  “Dinner smells good,” Grace said. “Those snares worked real well, Tony.”

  “They do, luckily. As long as we can bait them, we shouldn’t have a problem.” Tony turned the spits. “I’ve always enjoyed rabbit. A little gamey, sure, but as long as you expect that when you bite in you’re not shocked.”

  Sam laughed. “You’re a good cook. I’ll give you that.”

  Char heard neighing from the stables. “You think they’re okay by themselves in there?”

  “Might not be thrilled about being penned up. Could take them a while to get used to it. Have to remember,” Tony said, “they’ve been running free for years. Imagine how you’d feel if you were suddenly locked up and confined to something not much larger than a prison cell?”

  “I’d hate it,” Char said. “No way I’d let someone lock me up.”

  # # #

  Someone shook her by the shoulders.

  Char opened her eyes, and her mouth, ready to scream.

  “Shh.” Tony had a finger pressed to his lips. “Listen.”

  She had been sound asleep. She could not recall a nightmare. If there hadn’t been one, it would be the first time in, she wasn’t sure how long, that she’d slept so peacefully. It might have something to do with the horses. They made her hopeful, which was an emotion in and of itself that she could not truly recall feeling. “What is it?”

  “People. Outside the ranch.”

  “Where are Grace and Sam?” Char knew the two of them had a thing. They made for an awkward couple. It wasn’t like there were singles mingles they could attend. The two barely spoke to each other during the day; public displays of affection were non-existent. When it came time to settle in for a night, they were inseparable. Char was happy for them and that they’d found each other; found something in each other to love and cling to. She wasn’t sure she’d ever meet anyone and fall in love. It wasn’t likely. She knew she was more like Tony. She had attachment issues, too.

  “One of the other cabins.” Tony moved away from the bed, toward the window. He stood with his back to the wall and parted curtains with the back of his hand. “Too dark. There has to be at least three, maybe as many as six.”

  Char stayed still a moment, listening. The voices were low, but audible. “They’re going to know someone’s here.” She thought about the pit used to cook the rabbits. The fire had been extinguished, but even a hack of a tracker would know it had been recently used. Maybe it had been the fire and the aroma of rabbit that brought them to the location in the first place. It was possible, which was why they tried to move from wherever they were after cooking a meal. The fire, the smoke, the smells, it always attracted something. Tony had also warned that in the Blue Ridge Mountains the infected and raiders weren’t all there was to contend with. There were bears and mountain lions, as well.

  Tony kept a finger by his lips.

  Whoever was outside was close to their cabin. Char could feel her heart beat. It thudded hard inside her ribcage. She knew her breathing had changed to quick, shallow breaths. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. One rolled down the bridge of her nose. “What do we do?”

  Tony shot her a look, as if asking if she didn’t understand the gesture he’d been making with his finger.

  Their bug out bags leaned by the wall next to the door, the only obvious way out of the cabin, Char rolled quietly out of bed. She stayed low to the floor. On all fours, she crawled toward the door.

  Tony knelt by the window, still keeping the curtains slightly parted. Thanks to a cloudless night, moonbeams filtered into the room and sprayed across the area rug in a long and thin ray of light. “I count seven,” he said, “At least one is a woman.”

  His whispering sounded like thunder booming in the enveloping silence.

  Char stood up and put her machete harness on over her head and shoulders. She belted the sword in place around her wrist. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

  Tony got to his feet, and in two strides he crossed the room. He retrieved his bow and quiver, and placed his mouth near her ear. “I am going to try to open the window. I might be able to drop half of them before they even realize something is wrong. You—”

  They heard the bang of a door being busted open.

  Grace screamed.

  “No time,” Char said.

  Tony grabbed her arm. “I saw assault rifles. We need to be smart about this.”

  Char shrugged her arm free. “We’re not staying here. We have to go help.”

  Tony went back to the window. With the noise coming from outside, he pushed open the window, certain the sound made would be well masked. He parted the curtain, and knelt as he nocked an arrow in place. “Stay, Charlene. Wait until I say go,�
� he said.

  Char heard Tony’s words just as she slid out of the cabin onto the small front porch. When they made it through this, she planned to kick Tony’s ass. He knew better than to call her by her full name. He was not her father. She had not been Charlene in over three years.

  Char forgot her shoes. The bottoms of her bare feet protested, sending waves of pain up her calves through raw nerve endings. She held her machete out in front of her, considering the weapon an addition of her being and more than some prosthetic extension of her limbs. Staying with her back to the front of the cabin, she slinked across the porch to the side of the structure. She stood still, listening.

  Nothing.

  There was not even the sound of a struggle any longer. Char assumed Grace and Sam were two cabins down. Why they didn’t just stay in the one directly next door confused her. She was certain however, that one was vacant.

  She bent forward and ran from her cabin to the vacant one. On that porch, she mimicked her movements, staying close and in the shadows as she moved toward the opposite end. The moon lit the rear of the locations. Keeping well hidden by darkness on the porches was not going to be difficult.

  Char had been right. Sam and Grace were in the third cabin down from where she and Tony had been sleeping. From it, she heard muffled voices. Several people were inside the cabin. Were all the people Tony had seen inside, though? That was the question.

  Where was Tony? Waiting with his bow by an open window was not going to help the situation. They needed to surprise the raiders and attack together.

  Her chest felt tight, and for a moment she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Adrenaline and fear pulsed through her body, racing through her veins and arteries.

  Rapid gunfire erupted. Char held her breath. She felt tears brim in front of her eyes, but she stood statue-still, waiting. Before long she heard one of the men speak: “What are we going to do with them, Broadhurst?”