After [A Journey of the Twins Novel] (3 page)

The twins became sick shortly after the death of their parents. Their symptoms were light so their grandparents hadn't taken them to the hospital. At that time, to go to the hospital meant certain death. Within a couple of days, they recovered. Drayco was forced to live with their grandparents while Shyanne had to go live with an aunt in a nearby city. The advanced age and ill health of their grandparents made it difficult for them to care for two active teens.

Shyanne ran away after less than a month. Her aunt became sick and couldn't keep track of her ward. She arrived at her grandparents’ house just before they died. She comforted both during their final hours. Drayco was there a short time after their deaths, but the virus caused him to do terrible things, things he could not help. He had to drink blood to survive.

One night, he lost control and almost killed Shyanne. He left after that and she had not seen him since. Her heart yearned to know what had become of her twin brother.

A loud noise brought Shyanne back from her past. Looking around, she located the cause. The big, burly man was coming toward her. He shoved other patrons out of his way, not caring if they objected.

"My, ain't you a pretty one,” he slurred once he reached her table. He put both hands on the worn surface and leaned forward, raking over her body with his bloodshot eyes. The shifty-eyed man stood behind him, also drunk.

"Why don't you come upstairs with us? We can have us a real good time."

Shyanne sized up the situation and leaned back, arms outstretched on either side of the bench.
It's not even noontime and these two are already drunk,
she thought in disgust.

"I'd rather swim in a lake in wintertime,” she replied, disdain thick in her tone.

Shifty-eyes looked at her and said, “You'd best reconsider, missy."

The burly man reached for her, intent on dragging her from her seat. He was too slow.

Shyanne jumped onto the bench. Her sword was out before he knew it. A resounding thud echoed across the room as it cut deep into his flesh. It stopped when it met bone. With a tug, she pulled it free. The burly man let out a howl as he fell to his knees, hugging his arm against his body.

A shadow came out from under the table. In their drunken state, both men had failed to see the big cat when they barged up. The shifty-eyed man let out a yelp and jumped back. Seeing the situation, he turned to make his escape. Drizzle gave him a swat on his backside to remind him of his foolishness. Shifty-eyes disappeared through the exit, his ripped pants flapping behind him.

Shyanne jumped down from the bench and stood with her sword held ready.

The burly man held his arm against his body; blood ran between his fingers. His breath came and went in a ragged hiss. By the time he looked up, he found he was alone. His partner was already gone.

He glared at her as he struggled to his feet. “This ain't over yet, girlie.” He went out the door after his friend, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

The innkeeper's wife had watched the disturbance as it unfolded. Once the two men had scurried out the door, she hurried over to Shyanne.

"You'd best be moving on, my dear. Those two will be nothing but trouble if you stay. I can feel it in my bones."

"I'm sorry for the mess,” Shyanne said as she put her sword away. She tossed some gold coins on the table and picked up her pack. “I hope this will cover both the price of the meal and the clean up.” She was heading for the door when the woman yelled.

"Wait! You'll need this more than I will.” She walked over and handed Shyanne the money from the table.

"I can't take this. I ate some of your food and helped mess up the place.” She handed the money back to the older woman.

"My dear ... watching those two bullies get their fannies whooped by a little bit of a girl was payment enough. Now, take this ... I insist.” She grabbed Shyanne's hand, placed the money in the palm, and closed the fingers tight.

Shyanne smiled and hugged the woman. In a hushed tone, she said, “Thank you."

The innkeeper's wife was blushing when they broke apart. She turned Shyanne toward the door and gave her a gentle shove. “Now get on with you. You don't want to dally too long and give them shysters time to think up something to do to you."

Drizzle rubbed against the wife in typical cat fashion before moving with Shyanne toward the exit. The other patrons backed out of the way. They obviously wanted no part of this pair. They had witnessed what could happen if you crossed them and did not want the same treatment.

"I wish things weren't like this,” she said with a heavy sigh after they were outside. “The virus changed so much."

"I understand,” Drizzle answered. “Survival tends to bring out the worst."

She tossed her pack over her shoulder and walked down the road toward the stables. Children were running about, laughing and pointing at them. Adults whispered to each other, or stared. Disturbances of this nature were unusual in their town.

"News sure does travel fast, doesn't it?” Shyanne held her head high as they continued to their destination.

The stable was a large building nestled on the outskirts of town. It had ten stalls in all, two of which were big enough to hold more than one horse. Hers was in stall four, one of the larger ones located in the back. At present, five other horses were boarded there. Drizzle waited for her outside, lounging in the sunlight. His presence frightened the animals and caused them to kick and buck in their stalls.

As Shyanne entered the building, the strong smell of horse and straw hit her nose. She loved the smell and stopped to take in several deep breathes. When she felt satisfied, she moved on. A big bay horse poked its head out as she walked past. Shyanne gave him a quick pat on the nose and continued toward stall four.

The stableman came up to her while she leaned against the railing and looked inside.

The man was tall and as thin as a pole, but handsome in his own way. His face was as long as his body; a solemn look covered it. He took off his hat, scratched his head, and then returned the hat to its original spot, covering the wisps of thinning blonde hair.

"I heard about the fight. Please be careful, those two can be mean ones.” He rubbed his left arm where a large bruise covered it. “They did this before going to the bar."

Shyanne thanked him for his concern. She unlatched the door to the stall and went inside. A tall, dark horse with white spots on its hindquarters stood in the farthest corner, his ears pointing toward her.

"Jack ... how's my big man?"

He danced toward her when he realized who was in the stall with him, shaking his flowing black mane back and forth with every toss of his head. A smile crossed her face. Her heart filled with joy every time she watched him move. It was so fluid, especially for such a big animal.

The stableman watched as she hugged her horse. He leaned against the railing, but made no attempt to enter. “Sure is a loyal beast, that one is. Wouldn't let me get near ‘em for nut'n. Had to toss his grain into the bucket and run before he kicked the stuff'n out of me.” He pointed to an old, battered pail against a wall, grain spread across the floor in front of it.

She scratched the horse on the neck and replied, “We've been together for six years now. Before that, he was with a man who abused and whipped him every chance he got. When I witnessed what this man was doing, I persuaded him to give me the horse.” The smile on her face broadened while she recanted how she had changed the man's mind. “He refused, at first. Some money and my sword helped him change his mind. It took lots of time and patience to win Jack over. Now that I have, he won't let any man near him."

"You did a fine job with him, missy. That you did."

Shyanne grabbed the halter and indicated for the tall, lanky man to back away. When he was safely out of harm's way, she led Jack into the walkway. The horse pranced around with excitement. He knew they were leaving and looked forward to stretching his muscles. The stall had plenty of room, but the wide open spaces had more.

"Easy there, young man. We'll be going in a minute."

She reached over, grabbed the rope hanging off to the side of the walkway and secured it to the halter. She repeated the process for the other side. Picking up a brush, she started on his coat. It glistened by the time she finished.

She flipped the brush over and gave the pad draped over the railing a couple of resounding whacks. Thousands of tiny dust particles danced and twirled in the sunlight. They gently came to rest moments later as if exhausted from so much activity. She threw the pad onto the broad back. The saddle followed. After tightening it down, she secured her pack behind it with the attached straps. She worked the bridle onto Jack's head and wedged the bit into the open space behind his teeth. The reins were tied to a nearby post for extra security.

The stableman came up behind her, carefully watching the horse. He handed her a water skin and a package wrapped in some white cotton material. “I wanted you to have these for your travels. It ain't much, but it will hold you for a few days. I know you didn't have time to re-supply because of those idiots picking a fight."

"Thank you,” she said as she took the supplies.

He looked down while shifting some straw with his feet. “You'd best get a move on. The more distance you put between you and those devils the better."

Shyanne hooked the water skin over the saddle horn and placed the white bundle in her pack. She checked the belly strap one more time to make sure it was still tight. Before grabbing the reins and getting into the saddle, she hugged the tall man. Prodding Jack toward the main thoroughfare, she turned and waved. He followed her as far as the door and waved back.

"Good luck, and watch yer back,” he yelled.

I wish I could have known these people better. Unfortunately, circumstances never seem to let that happen,
she thought with a momentary twang of sadness.

Shyanne waved again and turned Jack toward the trail that took her in a westward direction out of town. Drizzle ran beside her. The horse was used to the sight and smell of the big cat; he paid no attention to the tawny creature next to him.

She didn't look back as she rounded the bend. If she had, she would have noticed two battered and angry men watching her as she disappeared, vowing revenge for what they considered an extreme injustice done to them.

"She will pay, don't you worry none. She will pay,” the burly man muttered as he watched her go.

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Drayco moved away from the section of the city where he had killed the old man. He did not want to be in the vicinity when the body was found. People were curious. They asked too many questions, questions he did not want to answer.

The old man's blood had helped, but at such a price. He remembered the many times he had not satisfied his need and how he had nearly died because of it. The thought of killing never sat well with him. Unfortunately, there was no option if he wanted to survive. He was worried, though; the thought of killing was getting easier.

Will this ever stop? Why did this have to happen to me?

The sun was reaching its orange rays over the horizon as Drayco made his way through the ruins. He was a tall man with a darkness about him, a darkness that made most people think twice before approaching. The sword swinging from his hip helped. He did not mind. It made it easier to avoid unwanted company.

The road he walked on lay broken and overgrown, grass sending out ever reaching tentacles to take back what was once its territory. It ran through a big city, the city he and his family had called home. That was before the virus made a complete mess of everything, before chaos ran rampant. The monuments and statues that had brought so many tourists now lay in ruins. The White House destroyed.

The towering buildings reminded him of the haunted houses he used to enter at Halloween. Rundown stores with broken windows were everywhere. Dirt covered the glass panes that had somehow survived intact, hiding the contents inside from view. What used to be automobiles was nothing but piles of rusted metal, abandoned where they sat.

When the virus had been in full swing, some made a mad rush to get out of the city, while others simply hid in their homes. The people fleeing blocked the roadways with their many cars, making it impossible for emergency personnel to get to the dead and dying. Some tried to carry their worldly possessions with them after abandoning their vehicles. They were forced to drop everything after the items became too heavy.

In the end, the virus found them. No one could outrun it.

Looting increased dramatically during the first few weeks. People grabbed televisions, clothes, jewelry, and any items they thought were important. Most were found dead with the “important” things lying next to them. The police, or what was left of them, were unable to keep up. They were too busy trying to survive, like the rest of the world.

Descendants of survivors still lived in the city because they had nowhere else to go. Their ancestors had not left, and neither would they. They felt safe in the familiar environment.

Drayco looked at the different buildings as he walked down the road. One would catch his interest and he would enter, finding nothing of use. Looters, both past and present, had done their jobs well. Even though he needed blood to stay alive, he still needed to eat the same as any other person.

A rundown store stood at the corner of an intersection. A light breeze made the worn and weathered sign dangling in front swing around in a circle. The hinge squealed with every turn. The noise caught his attention; the message on it drew him closer.

"Groceries. I wonder if anything might have been missed this time.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Won't know unless I look."

The door for the dank and dusty building was jammed with pieces of fallen concrete. He peered through the broken window and saw a few canned goods and other items thrown all around. At one time, it had been a grocery store; now, it was nothing more than a trash heap. The looters had ruined everything in their haste to get “the good stuff".