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But the woods remained calm, with bees and butterflies and songbirds.
Dahlia wanted to light a match and burn it all down.
“God damn it, Trash,” she snarled. When she uncurled her clenched fingers and looked at her palms, there were crescent-shaped nicks in the skin. Two of them welled with blood.
She bent and snatched up a fallen branch, whirled and smashed it against the trunk of a tree, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. The sound was startlingly loud and it froze her. She looked up as if she could see the echoes bounce off the trees and flee across the forest.
“Shit . . . ” she breathed.
The birds were silent now and she could feel them watching her. Ice formed around her heart as she wondered who else had heard that sound.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
She ran to catch up with the Pack.
Neeko was waiting for her a few hundred yards along the trail, chewing on a stem of sweet grass and pretending it was just any ordinary day.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said. They fell into step together.
After nearly two miles, he said, “So . . . think it might rain?”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, but she laughed as she said it.
Then one of the younger kids came running back to find her. “The Old Man wants you,” she gasped. “We’re there.”
Dahlia and Neeko broke into a run and followed the girl back to where Church and several older Pack members crouched in the shadows beneath a massive weeping willow. Sunlight shone brightly on a broad space of cleared land, and beyond that was a large, wide wall covered in peach stucco.
“Happy Valley,” said Neeko.
“It looks intact,” said Dahlia. “No zombies. No signs that it’s been overrun.”
Church, hearing her comment, came over and knelt beside her. “The other scouts have reported in,” he said. “There are packs of Rovers all through these woods. Estimate one hundred minimum, and likely more if there are groups in other parts of the woods. They’re moving in the direction of the town. Some of them are carrying ladders, likely looted from building sites or stores. Others are pulling wagons of premade Molotov cocktails. Dixie said she saw several Rovers with grappling hooks.”
Dahlia felt the blood drain from her face. “They’re going to attack the town, aren’t they? I mean . . . like right now.”
“Yes,” said Church. “There’s no other target of substance in the area. The scouts estimate that we have one hour before they’re here.”
“Well . . . shit!” She instantly began to surge forward, but Church caught her arm and gently pulled her back.
He held up a finger. “Never rush into things without considering all of the pertinent data.”
“Like what? The Rovers will slaughter a bunch of innocent people.”
Church said, “How sure are you that the people of that town are innocent? You’ve heard some of the rumors the refugees have told us.”
“What, about Happy Valley being like a slave plantation? Come on, do you expect me to believe that crap?”
“I expect you to consider it and prepare for that eventuality, just as you prepare for other things. Strategic planning is best done from a distance and with a cool head.”
They studied the landscape for a bit as she chewed on that.
“So, Dahlia,” he said after a time, “what do you think we should do?”
“Me? I thought you were Obi Wan and we were all Padawan learners.”
“This is real life,” he reminded her. “Besides, it’s your Pack, Dahlia. It’s never been mine, and it won’t be mine when this is over. It’s up to you to make a decision, and to plan for various likely contingencies. For example, you could head southeast, skirt the perimeter and move out of the area. There’s still time for that. And there are half a dozen other possible options.”
