The Decaying World Saga (Book 1): Tribes of Decay (5 page)

Jonah took her hand and pulled. The boy couldn’t bring himself to look at Rowan. Their walk into the building was painful for Rowan to watch. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see them again. Arkin remained silent until Mia’s sobs were lost somewhere inside the building.

“You’re a danger to the entire tribe.”

Rowan didn’t move. He didn’t believe Arkin would kill him in cold blood, but the look in the elder’s eyes was feral. He focused on the tip of the sword, still pointed directly at him. The wind whipped the dust from one side of the street to the other. It felt like the entire city was waiting to see what Arkin was going to do. Rowan found enough courage to speak.

“The infected are gathering, just like I said.” He waited for a reaction that didn’t come. “Darian’s death wasn’t my fault.”

“They were hunting, nothing else,” Arkin said.

“They’ve never hunted like this.” Rowan shook his head. “Something’s happening. I think something terrible is coming.”

“You don’t know anything,” Arkin countered. “You’ve been nothing but a burden to this tribe. You’ve been a plague to my family.”

Rowan was speechless. He knew then that he’d never be a part of the Cheyenne Tribe again. Arkin would have his way. His knees felt suddenly weak as the weight of what was happening pressed down on him.

“This is crazy,” Rowan said, and then took a step forward. Arkin stood his ground. “The tribe could be in danger.”

Arkin slowly lowered his sword.

“That’s no longer any of your concern.” He kept his eyes trained on Rowan with a stare that could bore a hole through his head. “Don’t go near her ever again.” He turned his back on Rowan and started for the building.

Rowan knew that Mia was the root of her father’s anger. He’d never wanted his only daughter tied to the worthless boy that cost him his wife. Rowan realized he was about to lose everything he’d ever known. He balled his fists and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“You can’t leave me out here to die.”

Arkin reached the entryway and paused. He never looked back, already considering the matter over and done.

“You’re already dead.”

5

Rowan was alone. He’d felt alone every moment since his parents died, but this was different. He had no tribe; he had no one looking out for him. Most important, he’d lost Mia.

He spent the remainder of the day wandering the city streets. He settled into a pattern, never letting the top of the tribe’s buildings out of view. The sun began its descent and took with it the last of the warmth. Rowan wasn’t prepared for the cold, he wasn’t prepared for anything. The increasing grumble from his stomach told him that the cold wouldn’t be the worst of his concerns.

Darkness set in and the fading light brought with it sporadic firelight along the roof tops. Rowan decided he would have to get to higher ground if he expected to survive the night. He settled on a five-story building close to the tribe, one he and Darian had explored many times. The top floor had become a hideout for a number of the tribe’s youth when they were still too young to be of any real use.

The entrance was pitch-black and the soundless first floor produced a chilling fear. Rowan slipped his bow over his shoulder and drew his knife. His hands were covered in dried blood. The sight of it caused a stir in his gut and it took him a moment to remember the blood was not his own. 

He stepped between the broken glass doors and into the interior of the building. He froze in the opening trying to calm himself. Under normal circumstances, he’d never enter a building by himself; he’d always had Darian to watch his back. One wrong move could leave him trapped. It was uncommon to run into the infected deep in the city, but from everything he’d seen in the last few days, there was no telling what he could expect. The tribe used hunting parties to rid the surrounding areas of the dead, but there were always a few of the walking corpses that managed to stay hidden.

The difference between the dead and the infected was something taught to every member of the tribe from the moment they began to speak. Rowan always figured it was the same process for every tribe. The season of the plague was the name given to the event. It came without warning during the height of human existence. They said it began with a single child, growing with such viciousness that the entire world was overcome with infection in less than a year.

No one really died. Death meant you would rise as a biter, the undead who longed for the taste of living flesh. Those who were attacked by the infected would transform, rising again, still alive, but infected with a lust for blood. This was the fate of all humanity, and Rowan, like every member of the Cheyenne Tribe, knew it well. It was his fate too.

He gathered his courage and forced himself to move. He knew the interior of the building well and calculated that his safest bet was the stairwell on the far end of the main hall. From there, he could get to the top floor and into the rooms he’d visited many times in his youth. The relative safety would let him put his guard down long enough to shut his eyes and get some much needed rest. He would then have the time to consider everything that happened and what, if anything, he could do about it.

The five-story climb took longer than expected. A hole in the roof provided the only light, and the glow of the moon left shadows lingering along every turn. Rowan reached the top floor with frayed nerves. Only his shattered heart matched his weary mind. He found the locks in place on the outer door and knew the rooms along the top floor were still safe.

He made his bed in a small room, pressed up against a window wall overlooking the main street. The high-rise of his former tribe dominated the view, highlighted by the moon shinning bright on the soaring structures. Fires dotted every corner of the rooftops, the flames broken from time to time by figures moving along the edge. Rowan imagined what was happening, but the thought only made him feel worse. He was nearly lost in his sadness when a faint sound echoed from beyond the door leading back out into the hall.

He shook the haze from his mind and leapt to his feet. He approached the door with hesitant steps, his knife out in front of him at the ready. He’d only made a cursory sweep of the top floor and its open rooms, sure of his safety. He cursed himself for putting down his guard; he was trapped and he knew it. He’d have to fight his way back down the hall in order to get to the ground floor.

The knob for the door was long gone, leaving a circular hole and a line of sight out into the hallway. Rowan slowly got down on his knees and peered through the breach. The moonlight cascading in through the window wall provided enough illumination to see a few feet, but no more. If he was going to find out what was moving around, he’d have to go out and see for himself.

Rowan had half a mind to shove the remaining items in the room against the door and wait it out until morning. If the undead were stalking the hall, a small barricade and a prolonged silence would be enough to save him, but if some of the infected had gotten into the building, he’d be trapped and dead for sure. He got to his feet and slid the decaying chair he’d placed against the door out of the way. Every sound echoed out into the hall, each one causing a renewed thumping in his chest.

The door pulled inward, only opening a crack. Rowan pressed his face against the doorframe and tried desperately to see into the darkness. He struggled to slow his heartbeat, anticipating something jumping out at him. He held his stare for a long time, but the noise didn’t return. He’d nearly convinced himself that he was hearing things when a distinct sound of soft footsteps moved toward him.

The door trembled in front of his eye as his hand shook. His mind was incapable of deciding whether or not to close the door before whatever was out in the hall reached the light. He came to a solution a moment before he saw movement at the edge of the moonlight. He made out a face, but the recognition didn’t set in until he instinctively slammed the door.

“That’s not very nice.”

Mia’s voice came through loud and clear. Rowan pulled the door open and threw his arms around her.

“I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.” He yanked her into the room before she had a chance to respond. “What are you doing here?” He let her go and light from the window revealed the damage to her face. Her eye was swollen shut and a deep shade of purple covered most of the skin from her eyebrow to her ear. “Oh no.”

He slid the tips of his fingers along the outline of the bruise. Mia grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Like hell,” Rowan countered, unable to hide his anger. The sight of her erased the fear that had nearly consumed him only a moment before. “It’s not all right.”

Mia started to defend her punishment, but the words got lost in her throat. She gave up and forced herself closer to him. Rowan put his arms around her and felt her give up most of her strength. He guided her to the ground and they sat quietly for a while as she cried, unable to look at him. Mia wiped at her eyes after a time and pulled her head from his chest.

“You can’t come back,” she said.

The sound of the proclamation was hard for Rowan to hear.

“He can’t do that,” he said. “He doesn’t have the power to banish someone on his own.” Even as he said it, Rowan knew Arkin had a strong enough following within the tribe’s council to convince them to do nearly anything. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he finally admitted.

Mia pulled her knees up close to her face. She leaned her head against Rowan’s shoulder as she focused her eyes out the window. Rowan could feel her trembling. He pulled himself around her and tried to get comfortable.

“He’s going to know where you went,” he said.

“I don’t care.” Her face shot around. “I’m not going back.”

“What? Don’t be crazy.” He brushed the idea off, trying not to laugh. “You have to.”

Mia pushed him back.

“I don’t have to do anything, and why would you say that?”

The pale light highlighted the damage to her face. Rowan slowly shook his head.

“This isn’t a game,” he said. “I can’t protect you by myself. Darian was stronger than me and look what happened…” He lost the words as he stood up and walked to the window. “…there’s something happening. I know what I saw.” He turned around to face her. “The infected are gathering.”

“But they’ve gathered before.”

Rowan shook his head.

“Not like this,” he turned and looked down at the long-abandoned streets. “Nothing like this.”

Mia popped up with sudden excitement.

“Then we’ll run away and get as far from here as we can.” She looked back at the door as if she was willing to start running at that very moment. “There’s nothing to keep us here now.”

Rowan kept quiet for a long time, before finally shaking his head again.

“Where would we go?” He shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t even know if the other tribes are out there. The wanderers are the only other people we’ve seen in a long time.” He heard the air rush out of her lungs. She stared at him, her eyes red, filled with pain.

“I can’t leave Jonah.”

He already knew that. Rowan knew Mia’s place was with the tribe. If he let her leave with him, it would kill her inside.

“We have to do something,” Mia insisted.

Rowan’s brow rose as a memory flashed through his mind. He rummaged through the belt pouches laid out on the floor. A moment’s search produced the peculiar device he’d found in the field outside the city. Mia’s head cocked to the side.

“What about this?” Rowan asked, holding it up.

“What is it?”

Rowan shrugged. “I don’t know, but,” he paused as he thought about what he was going to say, “I think I heard it talk.”

He turned the device over and examined the crack along the side. He ran his finger over the split and found it was perfectly straight. A small groove down one side matched an extension on the opposite side. Rowan pressed on the clip, the entire side snapped into place along the groove, and the split disappeared.

A hushing sound emitted from the device and the sudden clamor caused Rowan to drop it to the ground. Mia rushed toward the window, slipping in behind him. The two looked down at the gadget with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. The sound disappeared, but Rowan was hesitant to reach down and pick it up. Instead, he pushed his leg out and rotated the thing with his foot. A small red light stuck out in the dark from the top side of the device near the other buttons.

“Do you think one of the infected could have—?”

Rowan held his hand up to cut her off. He started to give a half-concocted answer when another voice filled the room.

“Red two this is watchtower, over.”

Rowan felt Mia’s grip tighten on the back of his arms. The static hushing continued for another few seconds and then the device went silent.

“At least I know I’m not going crazy,” Rowan said.

“How can it talk?”

“I don’t think it is.” Rowan picked it up and looked at the buttons on top. “I think someone was using this to talk to the dead person we found in the grass.”

“Like the people of the old world?” she asked.

Rowan nodded, but kept his focus on the device. There was something missing on the top of it beside the buttons. He tried to slip his finger into a small hole lined with circular edges. The history of the previous generations of man was not a forgotten subject. A number of the members of the tribe could read. Rowan and other young members had spent countless hours in a few of the rooms on the top floor of the Cheyenne Tribe’s central high-rise, learning from books of the old world. Arkin had been one of the key instructors for Rowan, Mia, and Darian.

Rowan finally nodded. “I think so.”

“But how could it still work?”

That was a good question and Rowan had no idea how such a thing was possible. The wanderers were the only people he knew of that still had working devices from the past and very few of them remained. He considered the question a while longer and something finally came to him.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

“How?”

“Last winter Darian and I found a water tower beyond the highway crossing,” he said.

“I remember,” Mia frowned. “You two were missing for three days and my father swore you were probably dead.” She shook her head. “I cried for a full night.”

“Sorry.” He cringed. “Well, we got lost. And we ran into—”

“The squatter?” she asked.

“He was a wanderer,” Rowan explained. “He was holding up for the winter before moving on.”

“There’s no way he’d still be there.”

“Maybe not, but he didn’t look so good. Darian and I both thought he was in no shape to travel.”

“Then he’s probably dead,” Mia said, bluntly. “He would have had to survive all this time by himself.”

Rowan knew she was most likely correct.

“Why bother anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe this has something to do with the infected gathering.”

“You mean, maybe you can show my father that you were right.”

“He already saw that for himself.” He studied her face. “You should get back.”

“What? No way,” she said. “I want to help you.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t make me go.”