Chapter 2 Liberty Horses

Let every nation know…that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and success of liberty. ~ John F. Kennedy

There were times when making a decision, ANY decision, was better than doing nothing, but this didn't seem to be one of them. He'd had other situations when he knew that the rest of his life was going to be influenced by his choice but it had never been so clearly life and death before. He looked around desperately for something that would give some sort of advantage.

Salvation came in the form of death. The rotting people had trapped the liberty horses and pulled down one of them. From what little Clint could see, they were eating it alive. Two of the other horses were tangled in their picket ropes and the last one was milling about nervously, trapped by a tangled mass of fallen poles and canvas. There was just enough room for the free horse to avoid the obstacles but it was panicking and couldn't find the escape on its own. Clint had taken care of the horses for most of their lives, and they knew and trusted him. He'd led these four out of a tent fire two years ago, so he had reason to think that the panicked horse would respond to him if he could just get to it.

He waited for a moment when none of the rotters seemed to be looking in his direction, then he ran across his camper and jumped to the roof of the next camper. The roof held, and so did the next one. His luck ran out on old man Carroll's camper.

He landed face first inside the trailer, his arms and face scratched and ripped from the jagged edges of the hole he'd torn in the roof. He got to his feet, his head still spinning, and stumbled to the door. He wrenched it open only to see at least four back lit silhouettes turn and start moving towards him. He slammed the door and threw the bolt, thanking all the deities he'd never believed in that Carroll was a paranoid, cantankerous old cuss who'd installed extra locks on everything.

Something started pounding on the door, denting the thin aluminum but not breaking the reinforcement that had been welded on. Several of the others had followed and were moving to surround the camper. He couldn't break out through the circle of creepers, he had to get them all in one location. Clint moved up to the driver's seat and rolled the window down, sticking his arm out to get their attention. They came at a run. He started to roll the window back up but his luck struck again and the window stuck halfway. He rolled out of the seat and scrambled into the back.

There were three still pummeling on the door. He turned, used his foot to kick out a window on the opposite side, and leaped through head first, quickly turning his fall into a roll. He ended up on his feet and started running immediately. Halfway to the horses, he turned and looked behind him, and immediately wished he hadn't.

The flickering flames made the darkness in between the fires blacker than any night he had ever experienced. What brief glimpse he was able to get showed the fighting was almost over, and he was on the losing side. And just make things even better, there was a whole train of them following him. He was leading them straight towards the only chance he had of escape. There was already the crowd of them feeding on the downed horse. He was going to have a hell of time getting through them as it was, but bringing reinforcements to his own enemies would seal his fate.

His lungs felt like they were going to burst and he really hoped the liquid running down his ribs was sweat and not blood. He didn't have much left in him; soon he'd slow down and they'd catch him. Despite this, he swung wide. His pursuers were able to cut the corner and gain that much more on him. One way or another, this was going to be over very soon.

He came up on the other side of the twisted mass of canvas, rope and poles. Climbing slowed him down enough that they caught up to him, the intermittent wind bringing him brief snatches of sulfur and the sickly sweet smell of death. He chanced one more look back, and terror gave his legs the extra push to jump up and onto the collapsed tent. He felt the canvas being pulled down as they clawed at it. He pushed himself to the absolute limit, his legs and arms burning from the effort and finally made it to the top, gasping for breath.

The crowd in the front had grown so large that they could no longer all fit around the downed horse. They had moved on to the two that were tangled, gnawing and ripping at them with claws and teeth. One of the horses went down as he watched, its legs kicking out and becoming entangled in its own guts.

Clint knew in that moment that there was no way in hell he was going to die like that.

He slithered down the canvas, careful to land a little bit away from the one loose horse. He walked up to it, humming. He hoped it was a soothing sound to the horse; he had often done it around them. The horse struck out with a foreleg once, but only the once. He looped his belt around its neck and then jumped on. The horse shivered and danced in place nervously but answered to his hands and shifting weight. He backed it up as close to the tent as he dared, then set his heels to it. The powerful body dropped down as the horse launched itself towards a break in the ranks of the horrors.

As soon as the horse came close, the creatures came after it, reaching towards both of them. Clint kicked out, his boots knocking away the hands as they grabbed. Many of the fingers showed bone where the flesh had rotted or been pulled off. He swallowed his terror down and shoved it into a tiny box inside his mind.

The horse never faltered in its stride and soon had them out of the surrounding ring. He guided it through the camp and out onto the roadside. As soon as they were clear, he slowed it to a trot and then a walk. They were both breathing in huge gasps, gulping in air.

After hours, they came to an open area of grass next to the road. Clint guided the horse over a slight rise, hoping it would shield them from the sight of anything, or anyone, traveling down the road. Not daring to make himself too comfortable, he laid down on its back, his hands wrapped around his belt on its neck and his head pillowed on his arms. The horse grazed for a short time, but it quickly gave it to exhaustion and quieted to sleep. He followed soon after.