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“Who are you?” asked Slow Dog.
He turned to him. “There isn’t enough time left in the world to answer that question in any way you’d understand.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” said Dahlia. “I mean . . . what’s your name? Can you tell us that, at least?”
The old man studied her and although she saw lights flickering in his eyes she was unable to use them to decode anything about him.
The old man gave her a smile that made him look old and sad. “You can call me Mr. Church.”
— 12 —
THE WARRIOR WOMAN
Rachael walked the path, gathering fallen weapons while Jason searched their would-be attackers for any more they might be concealing. Using the shotgun, he motioned for them to sit down one by one along the path, hands in plain sight. Alice sat off to the side with Tommy, holding him until his tears subsided.
The thumping of footsteps coming up the path made her tense and spin around, sword out. She lowered it when Peter and Claudia came into sight.
“We heard the screams,” Peter gasped as they both leaned over to catch their breath, hands on knees. “Are you okay?”
“The Apple Man went orc and attacked Tommy, and then we had some unexpected visitors.” Rachael nodded over her shoulder at the line of people. “We’re all fine though. The kid’s a bit shaken up, but no surprise there. Keep watch here, okay? I don’t know if there’s more of this crowd around, and I don’t want to get surprised again.”
Rachael picked up a Bowie knife and dropped it onto the now-sizeable pile of confiscated weapons, then strode over to the group of attackers. She looked at them one by one before crouching down in front of the man who’d held the gun on her.
“Look,” she said evenly, “we don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t have you threatening me or my people, so tell me who you are and what you want. And if you’re lucky I’ll send you on your way. No harm, no foul.” She tapped one palm absently against the hilt of the Elven dagger, once more sheathed at her hip. The man swallowed, his gaze never leaving her hand or the dagger.
She gave him time to work it through.
“I’m John, John Allens,” he said at last. “We’re from Happy Valley. We were on patrol, looking for one of our people. He went missing the other day, so we organized a search party. We saw you attack him.” His tone turned harsh. “Attack and kill him.”
Rachael winced. “I’m so sorry, but your friend was dead before I got to him. I don’t know how he died either, but he was an—” She stopped herself from saying “orc” because they wouldn’t understand. “He’d come back from the dead, just like most everyone else out there.” She kept her voice calm, almost sad, wanting to show respect for their loss. “We mean you and your friends and home no harm, I can promise you that.”
“M-Mr. Allens?” Tommy’s voice was soft, almost scared as he peaked around Alice’s leg.
“Tommy?” John Allens shot to his feet, apparently no longer concerned with Rachael or Jason’s weapons. “What in the hell are you doing out here? Your family’s got to be worried sick about you!”
Rachael stood as well, taking a step back as she looked from Tommy to John Allens. She kept her hand on her dagger hilt but made no move to draw it.
“Happy Valley? Happytown?” Jason muttered to her.
“Tommy, is Mr. Allens from Happytown?” she asked as the boy took a few hesitant steps forward.
The boy nodded sheepishly.
“We found Tommy wandering near the woods a little ways back,” Rachael explained. “He was looking for someone called the Apple Man. I’m guessing that was your friend.” She nodded toward the fallen orc. Allens looked over at the body and nodded. “We were trying to help Tommy find his way home when Pat attacked him. I had no choice but to quiet him.”
“You okay, son?” Allens knelt by Tommy, checking him over for bites and scratches. The boy nodded, passively submitting to the inspection.
“What’s Happy Valley?” Peter asked curiously. He was a thin, gangly young man with sandy hair and clear blue eyes. He looked like he should be playing sandlot baseball instead of being a part of this kind of violence. The self-aware hurt of that truth was evident in his eyes.
“We’re a town about a mile down the path,” Allens answered. “All survivors. Our community is gated, so nothing gets in, and we have been blessed with abundant land for farming and grazing, and lots of room for people. In general, we’ve been very lucky. Haven’t had any attacks by gangs or walkers, and the homes are a good distance from the gates. It’s a piece of heaven, even in these bad times.”
Rachael glanced at their weapons in the pile.
“How do you defend it? Do you have a guard or any watch set up, or any reinforcements of your fences?”
Allens looked uncomfortable and scuffed his foot on the ground, not meeting her eyes.
“We’ve sort of relied on volunteers.” One of the women in the group spoke up, her eye starting to swell from a close encounter with Jason’s fist. “We have lots of people willing to volunteer, whether it’s doing the farming or taking care of the animals or repairing the homes and fences or guard duty. A lot of folks willing to do the work, even though most of us don’t have much experience.”
