Author's Note: Goodness, you folks are fantastic! Thank you all so very much for your support and tips; you're going to make my head swell if you keep this up! XD I greatly appreciate all reviews, and I hope that you continue to read!
This entry's turned out to be a lot longer than I initially thought. But hey, it's worth it to introduce Blake!
20 January 2010
02:26
The first hunt was a complete and overwhelming success!
Tuesday morning was a very early morning; the twins and I woke at almost 05:00, at least five hours before our usual time. They protested, of course; they wanted to continue to sleep. But their breakfast of jerky was all they could eat; I wanted them to be well-fed for the hunt, so that their minds would be on me and my commands and not on their own hunger. I didn't let them over-eat, however; they would have stuffed themselves too full to move if I hadn't cut them off (much to their chagrin).
By 06:00, we were fed, and I was bundled for the cold day. I had checked our weather instruments for the first time since setting up the traps and laying them out; the day was supposed to be clear of precipitation, if clouded over, and warmer than usual (though still frigid). I figured that I would begin with salvaging, then, and follow up with the hunt itself after I'd found what I could.
I admit that I was nervous. I was placing a large amount of trust in my twins; trust that they would return after letting them loose, trust that they wouldn't turn on me as soon as I allowed them back in their environment. I feared that I hadn't done enough, that they weren't yet tame enough. I was close to putting off the hunt until I was more confident in my control over them—but my supplies were running low. I needed to salvage what I could from the research zone (which included several safe rooms used during the evacuations) for both myself and my twins. I couldn't really put it off any longer.
So I holstered my pistol and hefted the heavy fire axe I chose in place of a rifle (something I couldn't use with one hand), and led the twins out the door.
One fear was assuaged almost immediately—that which said my twins would run as soon as they were outside. Chris and Lexi flanked me, walking on two legs, completely alert; their noses were constantly working, and their heads swiveled back and forth like their necks were rubber—but they didn't run, didn't try to escape. It may just have been because they still wore their collars—but a part of me hoped it was because they considered me pack.
I led them away from the lab after having closed the door tight behind me. I could still get in, of course, but no Infected could (except a Tank), and that was what mattered. I headed for the closest safe room for salvaging, with both twins remaining by my sides, resembling two-legged guard dogs.
I found it easily. This one was set in a pharmacy's delivery dock. Many of the boxes that were still there contained items useless in a zombie apocalypse, and much of what was useful had already been raided by the crowds of people passing through. But not all of it had been taken, and I began filling an empty box with what I needed, what I thought I could use…and a few new toys and rawhide bones for the twins. I even found a pair of pet beds in which they'd fit and still be comfortable.
Of course, as soon as I made my choices, my twins tried to get into the box I was packing. I managed to keep them from pawing through, but their faces were all but plastered onto its sides. I believe they smelled the bones, knew them for what they were, and were impatient to get to them. To keep them calm while I worked, I eventually opened a large one and tossed it to Lexi. She caught it in her mouth and bounded off as Chris lunged at her to get a taste, too. He chased her, pounced on her, and they started wrestling over it.
I had brought with me a sort of makeshift sled that I'd made before I found Chris and Lexi; I knew I couldn't carry much of anything, with or without both hands—not and still be able to defend myself—so I needed something to carry what I'd salvaged. It was really just a few wooden boards nailed together and then bolted onto metal bars that acted as runners, but it was sturdy enough to carry what I needed. It was hooked to a harness made from the chain to which I had once tied my twins, which I now wore myself. The whole array made a lot of noise, but I really only had to worry about the lone Smoker prowling the sector; I would have plenty of warning to find safety before he could attack me—and that was if the twins didn't get to him first, if they would.
I whistled the "halt" and "here" commands, and to my gleeful surprise, they immediately stopped and came back—though Lexi was essentially strutting with the bone in her mouth (she was grinning around it, though, no mistaking it). She dropped it into one hand when I offered the both of them jerky as a reward for obedience, and immediately put it back again when she'd devoured the piece. With my twins beside me, I moved on to the next safe room a block north of that first one.
By lunchtime, the twins' bone was gone (at least I had a box full of them by then) and I had loaded my sled with as much as I was able to pull. I stopped in a former Arby's with its roof partially collapsed for a quick rest before I started back to the lab. I took the opportunity to feed the twins—this time, however, I fed them real (if partly rotting) meat, which I found frozen in one of the safe rooms. I built a fire out of a couple of wooden chairs I found nearby, hot enough to defrost the meat (I honestly wasn't sure what it was—turkey, maybe, or chicken) but not cook it. As soon as I determined it was soft enough, I set it out for the twins. They tore into it ravenously, with a vigor that left me wondering why they hadn't been terrorizing me while I was softening it for them.
I took the opportunity to gather a bit of clean snow (which wasn't hard—with no humans but me and a very small Infected population left in the city, the snow was just as fresh as first fall) and a pot and start to boil some clean water. Then I began to cook for myself for the first time since the Infection itself began to spread.
Just as my impromptu meal of beans and mystery meat was ready, I heard something that made me freeze for half a moment and sent chills down my spine that didn't have anything to do with the cold. It was a distinctive wheezing and coughing—the Smoker knew I was here, and was headed for my location. It was unlikely he was bothered by the twins; Hunters were Infected, like he was, and so he likely didn't even think about them. The twins themselves heard him and smelled him, too; they were agitated, dropping to all fours and pacing back and forth.
He appeared at the edge of the collapsed roof, and I will admit that I screamed, which just further agitated the twins; they shrieked what I hoped was a warning at the Smoker, who looked at them and coughed again, though it almost sounded like a growl. He was tall as all Smokers are, and his tongue dangled to his waist. What he wore, however, was rather strange: A filthy lab coat that had once been white, but was now soiled and stained that it'd never be white again; a faded blue dress shirt and ripped blue jeans; and a cowboy hat and boots. A stethoscope had been draped around his neck, though it was likely fused to his flesh now thanks to the tumors that had grown around it. Clipped to his chest was his I.D. badge, although I couldn't read it from where I was on the ground. He might have been handsome once, but the virus had made him hideous…and deadly.
I couldn't run; the sled would slow me down, but I didn't dare leave it—its cargo was too precious. I couldn't get up to him to whack him with the axe. That left my pistol, which would have to do. I drew it and tried to fire—but all of my shots went wide. I wasn't as good with my left hand as I was with my right…which would have meant my death if I had been alone against any other Infected. I could swear that the Smoker laughed, and took the opportunity to snare me.
His aim had been almost impeccable; he deliberately hadn't gone for any part of my body except my neck. I felt the appendage wrap around my throat, tighten, and start to pull me toward him. I was, stupidly, still in my harness; it tightened around my body when I reached the end of the chains' length, resisting the Smoker's pulls—which meant that I was being stretched between the two of them at least six feet in the air. I struggled to breathe, and I tried to displace the tongue around my neck, to no avail; my fingers slipped on the slime-like saliva that coated the appendage.
I was being hung, and there was no way I could save myself. What happened next, however, was nothing short of amazing to me.
I heard another shriek from Lexi and saw her leap. I felt the tongue snap somewhere above me, heard the Smoker's wheezing yell of frustration. I fell onto Chris, who had positioned himself on his back underneath me for just that reason; when I landed on him, his arms wrapped around me, and he flipped us both over so that he could stand over me protectively, snarling at the Smoker above.
I heard Lexi's growls above, though I was too dazed and still trying to catch my breath to be able to flip myself over again and see what was going on. I believe, however, that she was telling the Smoker off, so to speak—warning him that they were with me, that I was pack, too, and not food. Whether he really understood her or not was a mystery, but he seemed to get the hint that the twins were angry, and limped off.
When he was gone, Chris got off of me and crouched low enough to bump his head at my arm—an encouragement to me to get up as well as inquiring to my health. I sat up and started reassuring him, slipping my hand under his hood to give him a quick scratch behind the ear—a sign of affection I would always give the animals I treated. He seemed to appreciate it, purring and rubbing his cheek on my hand before I pulled it away. Lexi landed beside me, and I did the same for her, receiving the same response.
My fears of the two of them abandoning me evaporated at that point. They had defended me, saved my life. They hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity to kill me that the Smoker gave them. Instead, they had proven that I was theirs, as they were mine. I was pack.
After pulling off the portion of the tongue that was still wrapped around my neck, I quickly finished my almost-forgotten meal and started back to the lab. Thankfully, no other incident occurred—although I could swear I heard the Smoker's coughing some distance behind me. I just left the sled inside the door; I would unload it later, after the first hunt.
Now, I hadn't yet mentioned the precise location of the lab, primarily because it was supposed to be kept confidential; but I believe that doesn't matter anymore, not in this world. Therefore, the location of the field lab was on the northern edge of the city, just between the border of urban and suburban. It was how I hoped to be able to hunt good meat, and not just small game; winter would drive deer and other animals farther and farther out in search of food and without a human population to disturb them, their hunger would likely push them into suburbia at the very least. So when the twins and I left the lab again that day, we turned north, toward where I assumed we would have success.
As soon as we were a distance away from the lab—about half a mile into suburbia—I gave the command to begin the hunt. Almost immediately, my twins were off like a shot, leaving a small flurry of snow in their wake. I followed after at a more sedate pace, letting them find a scent and follow it without much interference from me. I kept my pistol ready, however, just in case. I was fairly sure I could hear that…that cowboy Smoker again.
After about an hour of following my twins' tracks (which really just consisted of a lot of disturbed snow where there otherwise wouldn't be) I heard Lexi scream, followed moments after by Chris. The sound was what I now consider to be the Hunter equivalent of a bloodhound's baying—they had found a trail, and were sounding the chase. I hurried off after them as fast as I could in the snow (I think it was almost a foot and a half deep).
They were, of course, too fast for me. I heard Lexi's killing roar several minutes before I arrived to a very grisly scene. Both of the twins were feasting on a freshly-killed buck when I got there, his throat torn open and his entrails spread about the backyard of some middle-class family's home. I fought down nausea brought on by both the sight and the sickening smell, but I lost that battle. I vomited in a nearby bush until there was nothing left to vacate. I swallowed a bit of snow to settle my stomach and to clean out my mouth, and then got to work.
I let the twins eat as a reward for their kill, but when they'd had enough I started to cut the buck apart, deboning it and removing the choicest portions. I had come prepared for this purpose, of course; I carried a large cooler with me, partially filled with ice to keep the meat fresh; I used my axe to sever the hooves, limbs, and head, and then pulled out a skinning knife (which I'd procured before I started this project) to peel off the fur. The twins wrestled over a thigh-bone as I worked.
When I was close to being done (and it took me twice as long as it should have, thanks to my hand), I heard the Smoker's hacking behind me. I whirled around with my knife, ready to at least make another attempt to defend myself. The twins stopped bickering long enough to growl warningly at him. He seemed to ignore them, looking directly at me. Then he braced himself, planting his feet, and shot out his tongue…
…directly at the deer head.
I could only watch, stunned, as he pulled the head to him and started eating it from the neck up. The twins went back to playing, so I assumed I was safe, at least. From this distance, I could actually read a little bit of his badge; blood had splattered and dried on it, blocking a portion of it, but I could at least make out his name and see his picture.
He had been a doctor; of what sort, I'm not sure, but his name had been Dr. Patrick Blake, M.D. He was as old I was, though, judging by his picture. (Amusingly enough, the virus hadn't done anything to change his looks beyond the mass of tumors that engulfed his left side—he had been scruffy before Infection.) I was willing to guess that he had been infected by a patient; caring for the person, but unable to diagnose the symptoms of the Infection until it was too late. I actually felt a little sorry for him, despite his attempt on my life earlier.
I actually stood and approached him at that point, while he was feasting on something other than me. I said his name, to which he responded with a wheezing growl; like the twins, he still knew his name. (Which brought up another question in my mind: Do all Specials remember their names, as a way of self-identification? Do only some of them, like Hunters and apparently Smokers? Or is it, as I had said before, just because the virus hadn't completely destroyed their minds?) He had to be more than seven feet tall; I'm five-foot-eight, and he towered over me. His single eye narrowed as I approached and even touched his arm, but he didn't strike out at me or anything.
The smell was almost overpowering, of course. He smelled of dried blood, old sweat, and other fluids, as well as the distinct odor of his smoky spore-cloud. That one is almost impossible to describe, really; it's almost like a skunk's musk, but heavier. It made me sneeze a few times, which actually made him laugh—rather, he made a series of short coughs that resembled laughter.
I whapped his arm which just made him laugh again. I scolded him and he fell silent (save for his wheezing, of course), but his single eye still held a sparkle of humor. It feels strange to write that about an Infected creature, but Dr. Blake was easily the most human of the three zombies. Then and now, I expected him to be on the level of a gorilla who had learned sign language—more intelligent than the twins, and able to communicate much more effectively, but still no longer human.
Assured that Dr. Blake wasn't going to attack me, I went back to finish gathering the venison. When there was nothing left I could salvage from the corpse, I whistled for the twins to join me. They ceased their tug-of-war game (Chris won this time—usually Lexi does), but instead of immediately coming to me, they went up to Dr. Blake first. They sniffed noisily at him before rubbing their heads on his arms.
That surprised me; I had no idea the twins were so familiar with him already. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised; the three of them had lived in the home sector for at least two months before I'd tamed the twins—it wasn't impossible that they had been a pack in that time. In fact, perhaps that was why Dr. Blake attacked me in the first place. He either didn't realize or didn't accept that I was pack, too, until the twins made it clear that yes, I was pack, and that I was there to stay.
I finished up with the venison and called a second hunt. Three hours later, my cooler was entirely full, and so were Dr. Blake and the twins. It was nearing dark by then, so we headed back to the lab.
I had made a major decision that night. I couldn't fit Dr. Blake into the cages I'd used for the twins; they were wide and roomy, but they weren't very tall. The Smoker towered over them as he did me. But I also felt that the pack had to remain together, newly reunited as they were. So I decided that they were going to sleep in my room, with me—I would do away with the cages entirely.
The rooms in the lab's small dormitory accommodated two people. I had roomed with a relatively tall young woman, a geneticist from University of Rochester; she was the one to become the Spitter when the Infection spread in the lab. I had cleared out most of her things when I returned to the lab, leaving plenty of room for me, but her bed was still there—it was far too heavy for me to move on my own. It was long enough for Dr. Blake to be comfortable, at least. So I set up the new pet beds for the twins in my room, moved their old toys and the new ones with them, and put covers on the other bed for the Smoker.
As I write this, the twins are curled together in one pet bed, while Dr. Blake is snoring—loudly—on the second bed. I don't think I'll be training him; he strikes me as too independent to be willing to learn actual commands. But he works well enough on the hunt as he proved today (he tripped up the buck in full flight to let the twins pounce), and he's pack, so I'm willing to let him stay.
When my hand heals, I think I may try to find civilization. Others should know about my success; they should know how to live with these zombies, these creatures borne from humankind. As I had said before, if everyone knows they can be tamed, humans can take back our world without fearing for our lives. But until then, I have no plan.
Perhaps I may do some exploring of the other sectors. Maybe…with both twins at my sides and Dr. Blake at my back…maybe I can get close enough to study the Witch that wanders through Home Sector.
We'll just have to see.
From the Desk of Dr. Garnet Merle, D.V.M.
