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As far as I could tell, Toby was the youngest of the family, but I had no idea who his parents were. He always called Alma “Auntie Alma,” so it wasn’t her, but I hadn’t really seen him interact with Wyatt, Waylon, or Bly.
He was a chubby little boy, with wild blond hair that hadn’t been cut in ages, and he wore overalls that were slightly too big for him. When he ran down to greet us, he nearly tripped over the cuffs.
“Toby, take Harlow’s hand,” she commanded. “She’s gonna be your keeper until we get down to your mama.”
“Where is his mama?” I asked, as he grabbed onto my hand with one of his sticky little ones.
“Just down the hill.” Alma waved me off again, and then she headed for the front door with Honora in tow.
I stayed a few steps behind her, but Toby didn’t seem to mind. He was kind of skipping along and singing to himself, and I was surveying the land, looking for gaps in their fencing.
Alma led me down the hill to another stable. It looked remarkably similar to the one I lived in with Kimber, except this one was cleaner, better kept, and there wasn’t barbed wire winding around the bars on the top half.
Each of the stalls had zombies in it, but none of them reached out through the bars as we passed. Alma stopped and started opening the door. I could see zombies standing right inside the stall, without muzzles or chains or leads, and she was opening the door right to them.
“What are you doing?” I asked. I was still hanging onto Toby’s hand, and when I took a step back, I pulled him with me.
“I’m visiting my husband Kaleb.” Alma spoke like it was obvious, and the door was wide open. Three zombies were standing right there, two men and a woman, staring ahead at us.
“And Mama!” Toby exclaimed, and he started straining at my hand as he tried to pull towards the female zombie.
“Let him go,” Alma said. “That’s his mother, Tabitha. She’s safe.”
“She’s safe?” I echoed in dismay, and I refused to let go of the little boy. I didn’t care what this woman said, or that I didn’t really know Toby, I wasn’t about to let him get torn up by a zombie.
“Harlow!” Alma yelled, growing more irritated. “Let him go. He’s not your kin.”
Toby was prying at my hand, and somehow the stickiness of his grubby grip had become slippery, and he pulled free. He darted away from me and ran straight to the female zombie. He threw his little arms around her legs and hugged her tightly to him, but the zombie never reacted. She stood there, staring ahead at nothing.
“See?” Alma smirked smugly at me, then she turned her attention to one of the male zombies.
As she approached him, I realized that he did look quite a bit like the other Loth men, although his skin had that ashen color that looked like death. He had a gash on his arm, and he was missing two fingers on one hand, but otherwise, he was relatively healthy and composed compared to a lot of other zombies.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Alma said to him. Her daughter still clung to her side, seeming much less interested in seeing her father than Toby was in seeing his mother.
Alma reached into her pocket and pulled out a cut of raw meat. It looked like steak, still bloody and fresh, and she held it out to her zombie husband.
He sniffed it, then grabbed it from her. He turned his back to her and crouched down on the ground before tearing into the meat, eating it like a wild animal who was afraid of getting his food stolen.
Toby’s mother sniffed the air, but she didn’t even turn her head to watch Kaleb eat. Her son kept hugging her, and he was babbling, telling her about his day and his toys and things I couldn’t understand.
After Kaleb finished his meal, Alma went over and crouched down beside him. She gently rubbed his back, and when he let out a grunt, she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. Her other arm was still around her daughter, hugging her to her.
“I miss you so much, Kaleb,” Alma whispered.
In another context, it might have been a sweet scene. A family in a loving embrace. But Kaleb the zombie snarled, and Alma had to jerk away so he didn’t bite her face.
His aggression immediately dissipated, though. He stood up and wandered aimlessly around the stall, the same as the other male zombie had been doing.
“Why aren’t they biting you?” I asked Alma. “Why aren’t they attacking me?”
“They’re tame,” she replied. “It takes a lot of time and persistence and love and raw meat, but it can be done. For some of them.”
I was about to ask her how they tamed them, but our conversation was cut short by Kimber. I knew her well enough that I could even recognize the sound of her screaming bloody murder, like she was right now.
34
Harlow
