Dogs and cats, dogs and cats

  Follow the trail of the dogs and cats

  Watch the skies and follow the wind

  If you don't want your peepers skinned

  Crows and jays, Crows and jays

  Followed us on the road for days

  Even the robbers gave it a rest

  And wouldn't test the deadly pest

  Bulls and pigs, Bulls and pigs

  Marching there between the twigs

  Trying to find a promised land

  Never heeding man's demand

  Mice and men, mice and men

  Never be the same again

  Without a sound they swapped their places

  But never told their bleeding faces

  -"Carnivora," from "Whispers in the Dark: Poems by Aparna Bhatia"

  September 30th - October 9th, 2012

  They walked west for over a week, following the strange pack of dogs and cats. They followed dogs by day, while the cats crept in the underbrush. They slept with the cats at night, while the dogs stood silently around the perimeter. Always the birds watched from the trees, circling high above. They kept their guns out at all times. Simone's mother even conceded to giving her and Lex pocket knives.

  Her father tried to sound optimistic when he was explaining to her how to use it, but she knew it was pointless. A knife wouldn't stop the birds. Guns wouldn't either. Only the dogs and cats could. Only the softness of Sam's fur could allow her to forget the danger all around her, allow her to stop thinking about that day over and over again, staring into the empty sockets where Alicia's eyes used to be.

  Lex had barely spoken since that day, at least to her. He'd checked on her, made sure she was okay in his reflexive way, but she could see in his face that he was somewhere else. She'd catch him mumbling to himself, staring at his hands, then looking out at the rest of their scared little group. He'd linger on the invalids, the one's who got the worst of it when the birds made their move. At first she thought he'd gotten stuck in that horrible feeling, the one that had come over her just after the birds had left, the feeling of not wanting to see but being unable to look away.

  But over time she noticed the little twitches his hands made as he looked at them, repetitive and looping, almost like he was knitting a scarf. Then she finally managed to sneak close enough to him to eavesdrop on his mumbling, and learned an immutable truth about her brother. He was working out how to fix them, going over all the places that needed to be stitched and bones reset, all the people that had developed infection.

  Nothing could take away his need to fix things, not even being broken himself. By the fifth day he was changing out dressings and bandages. On the seventh he held a man down as they amputated his arm. By the tenth day checking up on the patients and giving them their dinner had become routine.

  She'd developed some routines of her own in that time. Every day she would scan the sky, then the trees, then the ground to make sure their was a dog or a cat in her eyeline. Then she'd check her pockets, make sure her knife was there, make sure sure she was close to her parents. Over and over and over again. Hundreds of times. Her neck was constantly sore craning it back, but she paid it no mind. She was developing a callus on the tip of her thumb from rubbing the edge of her knife, but she paid it no mind.

  As long as it kept the birds away, she would keep doing it, no matter how much it hurt. As the days dragged on she started adding more to it, straightening her jacket, adjusting her hat, even doing a short reverse walk to make sure no birds were sneaking up behind her. Sometimes she felt silly doing it, but that feeling faded quickly. All she had to do was let in the pain from the hundred cuts on her body, remember the deep ones on her stomach and arms that weren't even half-healed. Nothing that kept the birds away could ever be silly.

  Food was an issue almost immediately. The birds had taken a lot of corn, more than their group could afford. They'd taken what they could without having to fight the other survivors, but even with the canned food they had brought with them it was only enough for a few days, a few more if they rationed carefully. Scavenging was difficult with the birds watching, even with the dogs and cats.

  Scavenging meant entering buildings, separating, getting isolated. Birds could pick them off one by one. Even dogs and cats had their limits in those circumstances. They lost two from their group that way when they tried to raid a Food Lion. They thought the door would keep them out, said as long as they went in the back they'd be fine because birds don't know how to use doorknobs. Maybe on the old world they didn't, but times had changed.

  Simone was glad the birds had waited until those two had gotten well into the store before attacking. She barely heard their screams. They left the bodies inside and moved on without looking back.

  The animals did what they could to help, but they couldn't be expected to feed themselves and the humans, too. They brought in a few squirrels and couple rabbits. One of the men who had formed a hunting party said they had bagged a deer one day, didn't even need to fire a shot, but the birds stole it from them. They tried to fight them off, but there were far too many, and the birds were determined. Guess they were hungry, too.

  There was a woman who apparently had foraged before and brought them some mushrooms to eat. Most were hesitant at first, but after the first guinea pigs didn't get sick and their stomachs grew more desperate they acquiesced to eating them. Simone didn't like the taste and liked the texture even less, but she liked it far more than the stabbing feeling of hunger in her stomach, and the progressive feeling of weakness growing over her body.

  It was a week after the bird attack on the corn fields that they saw their first herd. They almost didn't register it at first, just dismissing it as another brown field full of dried grass. Than they saw how it was moving, the flairs of white horn and bits of pink near the ground. Cows and pigs, all heading south. Thousands of them. Within seconds all sound was swallowed by the sound of their beating hoofs and intermittent mooing and squealing.

  Their group veered closer to get a good look, circling around a rocky hill to avoid being seen. A few dogs barked in protest, and some of the cats tried to get in front of the men, but they could not be dissuaded. They'd barely even smelled meat for a couple of weeks, and their mouths were watering. There were so many of them, surely they wouldn't miss a few to keep their group fed. Simone stayed behind with her mother and her brother, but she could feel the herd moving slowly in the soles of her shoes.

  At first it seemed like the herd hadn't noticed them, not a single head turning to their conspicuous group up on the bluff. But Simone saw something that no one else did, a small band of bulls breaking off from the main group, silently slinking into the trees hemming in the herd on their left. No one else looked at them. They were too busy looking at the larger group, pointing out a couple stragglers listing to the side. It was a female and her calf, the udder hanging low and tilted towards her limping leg.

  A couple men broke off from the observation party, grabbing their guns and checking the chambers. Once they were satisfied that the firearms wouldn't jam, they set off down the hill, jumping between the trees and watching the ground like hawks for deadfall. The bulls were heading straight for them, just barely visible between the partially bared trees. They didn't look down to see where they were stepping. They just seemed to know.

  It all happened within the span of about thirty seconds. The men set up about 50 yards from the herd, just above the limping cow and her calf. Most of them crouched, but one of them decided to lie prone with his rifle. They cocked, then sighted their target, some on the the two stragglers, other on the ones around them. A single dog bark was all the warning they got, and then the bulls were on them. One of the men who was crouching turned around quick enough to get a rifle shot in one of the bulls, but that was the only resistance. Simone didn't think the man laying prone ever got off the ground.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  All the silence the bulls had displayed on their approached vanished in a mewling crush. The huge beasts weaved between the trees in an expert charge, goring anything standing and crushing the rest underfoot. The one man who managed to get off a shot was disemboweled in an instant by the one behind his target, the steer crying in rage as it lifted him up with one horn and flung him into the air. He hung in the air for a moment, his large intestine draping just below his feet in the visceral impression of a jump rope, before falling into the avalanche of flesh.

  The tide passed, leaving behind mashed and torn corpses, the pieces of their weapons scattered into the underbrush. The last thing she saw before they moved on was a large swath of pigs breaking off from the main group, descending on the bloody silhouettes and cleaning the forest floor. She left that little valley with the sounds of crunching bone still audible, a sound that haunted her well into the night.

  After that things became desperate. They were were already down to two meals a day, barely allowing even a snack in the morning. The oatmeal was long gone. By their maps they were nearing the West Virginia, and the signs of civilization grew more sparse by the day. The only resupply they got was from raiding a couple of abandoned houses. One did have a decent pantry the basement, but with the size of their group it only provided one good day of food, then back to square one.

  On the ninth day the wife of one of Bart's kids, Sue Reaves, collapsed while she was walking. She'd been skipping meals, giving them to her kids. She just couldn't bear to see how their cheeks were starting to sink in. They were all so delirious and focused on the birds that they didn't even notice her for several steps, just putting one foot in front of the other like zombies.

  It wasn't until a few bold birds descended on her and started picking at her legs that they responded, firing a couple of shots into the mess of feathers while a dog bit down on the wing of a buzzard as it tried to escape. They all had a bit of meat that night, even if the vulture meat tasted weird. Sue Reaves got an extra helping that night, to recover her strength. They couldn't afford to have her fall again.

  It was on the afternoon of the tenth day that the sinister calm finally broke. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees, and the temperature was beginning to drop. A few of the men at the front were fussing over the map again, trying to see if their were any good places to hold up in the surrounding area. They'd been walking on this little road nestled in the mountains for what seemed like forever, occasionally veering off-road whenever the cats and dogs deemed it necessary.

  They seemed to be doing that more and more, but Simone couldn't figure out why. They hadn't seen anyone in days, and going off-road slowed them down considerably. Even the birds were taking a break, with only a couple of buzzards circling around them and keeping a cursory eye. She hadn't seen any in the trees since the day before yesterday.

  So why the diversions? She gave Sam a side eye as he trotted next to them, trying to figure out if he could help. He had been a lot smarter lately, and he kept doing that thing with his ears and his paws. Was he trying to communicate? She'd have to figure out a way to ask him.

  Sam stopped suddenly, his ears perking up. Up ahead, a German Shepherd stopped and let out a deep, commanding bark. The party stopped, readying their weapons. The men at the front hastily stuffed the map in a bag and cocked their rifles, looking up at the trees for birdsign. All was silent for a moment, aside the growling coming from the dogs and the little chirps cycling between the cats.

  Simone huddled close to her mom, pocket knife in hand. She was scanning the trees, her pistol out but her hands shaking. Alex stood close to their father, his pocket knife out and raised high like it would do something. Their father was crouched low, scanning the trees like the others, but also sneaking glances at the gaps between the mountains. Her breath escaped in tight, jerking bursts.

  After a couple minutes of waiting the men at the front relaxed, letting their rifles drop.

  "Guess the birds didn't feel like playing today. No chicken dinner, I suppose." One of them laughed and slapped the other one the back.

  Simone stared at them, incredulous. Couldn't they see how tense the cats were? Or hear the dogs growling? She started pushing away to say something when a shot rang out. The bullet struck the two men patting each other on the back with one-armed hugs, exploding out of the first man's chest and slicing across the top other man's protruding belly. Gore splashed onto the second man, coating his intestines as they spilled out onto the pavement and instantly dyed the yellow fat red.

  She screamed as more shots rang out, her mother pushing her to the ground as she crouched and fired into the trees. Simone looked into the forest and saw red flashes of light from between the trees, followed by the thunder of gunfire. She instantly sunk back to that night, watching from the window. The old man shot in the back. The man in the trenchcoat. The baby screaming in the dirt.

  A body dropped next to her, thrashing. It was Sue Reaves, a jagged hole in each cheek. Most of one cheek was still attached at the exit wound, held on by a small strip of skin. She pawed in back into place and held tightly to the sides of her face, sputtering and choking as she tried to spit out the blood flooding her mouth.

  Screams cut through the air. Dogs barked savagely as they charged into the underbrush, never minding the bullets. The cats went silent and dropped low, slinking quickly to each side, then bursting up as they hit the treeline.

  Her father ripped a shot into the trees, then jerkily drew back the bolt and chambered another round. A scream echoed from the forest where he had shot, followed by a collapse of brush that was barely audible in the mayhem. More screams came from the slope, followed vicious snarls and the feral screech of a fighting cat.

  It had only been a few minutes, but Simone could tell the tide was turning. Fewer flashes from the slope. Fewer people dropping around her, blood pooling on the asphalt. Another shot rang from behind, then a second, a third. She turned around, gasping, as a couple to her right fell, their guns bouncing off the ground.

  More attackers on the other slope. Fire bloomed again in the trees as the light continued to wane, the sun ducking behind the first slope. She looked over at her brother, now on his knees with hands over his eyes. He was crying, chanting some phrase over and over again that she couldn't hear. She looked over at the couple that had just fallen, and the silver pistol laying on the ground only a couple of yards away. If she could get to it, she could help fight. She could...no.

  She'd never held a gun, let alone fired one. She'd seen her mom fire her pistol before in the backyard after she'd had a fight with her father, and the little things liked to jump when they went off. She looked at her hands. Her small, child's hands. A lump formed in the throat as the reality set in. She would barely be able to hold one. It would jump right out of her grip.

  Crouching low, she started to cry along with her brother, the little pocket knife clutched tight in her hand like a final lifeline. They were going to die. All of them were going to die. Her father. Her mother. Lex. Even Sam would get shot, if he didn't run away first. She hoped he did. She tried to picture it, to hold the image of Sam living a happy life to drown out the screams and death all around her.

  Sam was leaping around an open field with other cats, chasing mice in the tall grass. After they'd caught a few they ran back to the colony, where Sam's mate was resting. She was a deep black with yellow eyes, regal and matronly. Their kittens suckled at her belly, one black, one orange, and two tortoiseshell. He laid a mouse at her feet, then craned his head forward as hey smelled each other's noses. Sam gave her a few licks around he ears, then licked his children, before finally curling up next to her, forming the rough shape of her heart.

  A new sound broke her from the escape. A quick set of pops, so familiar even in the din. She'd heard it many times, especially in the action movies her dad liked to watch. There it was again. Several pops in the span of a second, all from the same source. Automatic weapons.

  Simone looked up, sure that they were about to get machine-gunned into paste, but all around her was calm. No more bullets wizzed passed them, and no one from their group was firing. They just stared off into the trees, watching as the gunmen hidden within them continued to fire, but not at them.

  Harsh yells from the slope were swallowed in a roar of fire, several hundred rounds being discharged within a few seconds. It was over within a minute, all fire giving way to the sound of people running frantically through the brush. A few more shots rang out, followed by choked screams, then silence.

  Simone stood up, looking around. Lex and her mother were fine, but her dad was still crouched, bleeding from a graze on his thigh. Their group, which had still been close to 25 even after the disaster with the cow herd, was down to 12, a dozen bodies strewn across the pavement.

  One of them was still thrashing, but there was nothing they could do. His brains were on the ground. Simone always thought brains were supposed to be pink, but they weren't. The blood just made it look pink.

  Almost all of the people that were alive were injured, including Sue Reaves, who managed to avoid choking to death. She would need a lot of stitches if she was going to save that cheek, however. She looked over at Lex, who was staring at her. Probably planning how he was going to do it, where to start.

  She jumped and nearly screamed as dogs and cats burst from the trees, Sam trotting right up to her. There was blood coating his backside near the tail, but he wasn't limping. His muzzle was crimson with gore, the matted hairs of his snout still dripping. Her hand reached out to pet him, but she pulled back. She didn't want to smear blood all over him, or get blood on her hands. She didn't know where they were going to get the water to clean this off.

  He meowed at her, a high meow, then twitched his left ear twice and swiped his right paw through the air. Perhaps that was cat for "You're safe now, I killed them." The thought made her blood run cold. Her Sam, her little ball of fluff, was a killer. He'd probably ripped someone's throat out, all to save her. How could she repay that?

  Guns cocked as more figures emerged from the woods, soldiers by the look of them, but slightly off. They had all the things Simone associated with soldiers, bulletproof vests with pouches on the side, assault rifles, helmets, camouflage, but they were all wrong. The color scheme didn't match at all.

  One person had a black helmet with a camouflage vest and pants. One had full camouflage, but the pixelated, digital kind that hunters sometimes wear. One had white and black pants, like winter camouflage. A couple of them didn't have scopes on their guns, or had shotguns or hunting rifles in place of automatics. One of them was fat and waddled a bit, hardly the image of soldier.

  The one at the front folded his sunglasses and put them into a pocket on his vest, showing blue eyes above a blonde-brown beard that was thick but greasy.

  Sue's husband, Kyle, who seemed to be the least injured of the men, stepped forward. "Hey, are you the guys that chased off those raiders? They nearly had us dead to rights."

  "Yeah, that was us, and glad to do it." He stepped forward, offering a gloved hand for Kyle to shake. "I take it y'all are going to need some medical attention."

  Kyle shook the hand offered, then looked back at his wife. "You can say that again. We've got thread to stitch wounds, but we're pretty low on antiseptic." He turned around, like he was going to go check on their supplies, then stopped. "Say, who are you people?"

  The man smiled, then hoisted his gun, barrel pointed at the sky. "The best people around, my friend. We're the John Brown Gun Club."

  How are you liking the story so far?