And all at once Dahlia understood that this was the core of the lesson. Maybe of all of Old Man Church’s lessons. Protect the Pack but also make sure it grew.

This chain of logic and analysis flashed through her mind in a microsecond.

Then Dahlia was moving, the baby tucked against her side as she angled toward the closest edge of the clearing.

“Neeko,” she roared, and the little scout whirled away from a trap he’d just evaded. He saw her, saw the bundle, and as if a burst of telepathic communication shot like lightning between them, he nodded and ran to help her. Two more of the zombies in boiler suits rushed out of the woods, and as Dahlia turned to avoid them, Neeko—smaller and weaker than her—darted in, using his lack of size to evade grabs, and his thin limbs to whip out with his makeshift weapons. He had never moved this fast before. She had never run as fast. The tricks and traps of the Arena tried to kill them both. More zombies chased them. It seemed as if the whole world wanted to catch them, kill them, kill the child.

Dahlia felt herself shifting, transforming. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t who she was before meeting the old man. She was pretty sure she wasn’t who she’d been seconds ago. Somehow, she was becoming who she was going to be. If she lived. If they all lived.

She was fifteen feet outside of the circle, with a panting Neeko crouched beside her, before she even realized was safe. The moment froze.

She looked around and there was Church standing a few feet away. The man almost never smiled. But he was smiling now.

— 18 —

THE WARRIOR WOMAN

When Rachael cut their tour short, saying she needed a drink of water and some food, Heather seemed almost relieved to be done playing native guide. She pointed them toward, unbelievably, a coffee shop. “Just tell them you’re new here and that the mayor will arrange for payment.”

The three watched her walk off and out of sight before turning to look at each other.

“So I’m not the only one totally creeped out by this place, right?” Jason asked.

“Hell, no,” replied Claudia. “There is something seriously fucked up going on here.”

Rachael nodded her agreement. “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do. I want to find out what I can about this place and what’s going on here. I totally understand if you two want to hole back up in the house while I play detective. I don’t want to put you in any situation here where you don’t feel safe or welcome.”

“I’d rather have them have to look at my face.” Claudia’s voice was cold as she watched a Hispanic teenager on his knees weeding while a white couple and their dog walked by as if he didn’t exist. That was strange, because dogs were rare out in the woods. Orcs had eaten most of them and the rest were smart enough to stay away from anything that walked on two legs. This one, though, seemed like an ordinary pet. Strange.

“Okay then. I’m gonna check out the coffee shop. Do you want to split up?” she offered. They nodded, Jason and Claudia continuing up the street while Rachael went in the other direction, heading out of the subdivision toward the wall and the outer perimeter of the community.

The first person she ran into was John. Jackpot, she thought. Greeting him with polite—and fake—enthusiasm, Rachael thanked him for bringing her group to Happy Valley.

“I do want to ask though,” she continued, pretending to be much less intelligent than she actually was. “What’s the story with all the workers? I mean, you told us a little bit about how things work around here yesterday, but I’m still not sure I understand.”

“Why, sure thing.” John gave her a broad smile, seemingly forgetting she’d beaten the shit out of him the day before. “Most of the families living here were part of the original homeowners when Happy Valley was first built. The community wasn’t completely full, but a good portion of the homes had residents. When things in the world fell apart, and it was no longer safe outside, it was decided to bring in as many people as we could support. Thing is, even when resources were stretched thin, we didn’t want to turn people away who needed help. So, we offered to let newcomers work for us for an agreed upon period of time, to earn their place here or supplies, if they want to move on. If that’s the case, we help them find a safe place to go.” He smiled knowingly.

“How long do they have to work?” she asked with faux wide-eyed interest, the words “indentured servitude” running through her mind.

“There’s not really a set time,” John replied, “maybe a few weeks or a month or so. It really depends on the type of work, whether they want to go or stay. And if they want to join us permanently, we want to see how much they’re willing to do to prove they’re dedicated to the community. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m meeting my wife for lunch.” He gave her a wink, and she smiled back.

As soon as he turned his back, her smile instantly faded and she slipped back into one of the subdivisions. She wanted to talk to one of the workers and see what they had to say.

It took a little while for her to find some workers who weren’t under the watchful eyes of residents or the occasional security patrol, but she turned up and down a few streets until she found a small group of three men and two women taking a break from painting the exterior of one of the spacious homes.

“Hi there,” said Rachael in friendly tones. All of them startled and jumped to their feet, talking over one another to apologize for taking a break.

Holding up her hands, she quickly said, “It’s alright, I’m not a resident. I’m new here. I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

Most of them looked uncomfortable, unwilling to meet her gaze, but one of them finally stepped forward, a young black woman. She had her hair pulled back into a bun, splashes of pale blue house paint across her cheek, a stark contrast against her dark beautiful skin.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” she asked in hushed tones, her nervousness palpable. Her gaze flickered left and right, as if scanning the area for possible observers.

“I just wanted to find out your story, how you got here, if you want to share.” Rachael did her best to sound reassuring. “My friends and I are trying to decide if we’re gonna stay here. I’m Rachael, by the way.” She held out a hand.

After a brief hesitation, the woman took the proffered hand, gave it a quick shake and dropped it. She did not, however, offer her name. The woman shrugged. “I’ve been here since the cars died and everything went to shit.”

“What happened when you got here?”

Tags: Jonathan Maberry Dead of Night Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net