The strange thing about being a Guide was that anyone with a little bit of sense can do the job. Well actually you have to have sense and a healthy disregard for your own longevity. I wasn’t suicidal, and I didn’t particularly want to die. But I can’t claim to have a whole lot in the way of things to live for, other than the fact that I don’t want to be an Anomaly myself. I let the depressing line of thought go as I sniffed the air and came up with the smell of wet dog. It could be a feral pack was upwind, or it could simply be a whiff of body odor from the others, or even myself. Fresh, clean water was a little hard to come by for bathing purposes, even inside the New City. Out here, smelling clean would attract attention. I usually smelled like foul refuse but that helped me to not smell like prey so I never cared. Not wanting to even think about running into a feral pack, I decided that this group of meat bags should probably get off the main street here.
That’s the problem with this place, it’s all urban graveyard. The building weren’t ruins, instead most were simply abandoned. The glass was broken and scattered onto the sidewalks, the cars were ruined, some overturned and piled in the middle of the street when the cities began to fall and people thought blockades stood a chance of working. People really did try for a while to hold their world together. But it had failed, and now I was forced to weave these survivors through this broken down corpse, avoiding the blockades, the burnouts, the dead ends and anything that might think we look yummy.
I looked back over my shoulder at Pops, the old cop, and jerked my head, letting him know he needed to come closer. Sound carries in a dead city and you would be amazed how many people seem to forget that fact when they’re on their way to a safe haven. Luckily the old grouch was smarter than the average fart and he skirted up next to me without yelling across the distance between us. “Tell your grunts in the back, no guns while we’re in the city. Too loud, it’ll draw every ‘Nomly in the place right to us. Though it would scare off the ferals.” It’s not a difficult order but by the look he was giving me I could tell that Pops wasn’t used to the street slang yet. Strange, where had these people been, living in a cave?
“These guns have kept us alive.” Pops growled lowly at me, at least smart enough not to get loud in the side streets.
“In the hinterlands I’m guessing. Here those bang pops will just draw in a whole rumpus of bad news. Tell your grunts to keep them locked away. Use the stabbers or the beaters, but no guns.” I threw in more street slang to keep the old copper off balance. I could see it in his eyes as he glared at me, that the old man was intelligent. That’s why his group was so big. He had the good taste to figure out how to keep that many mouths alive. I’d respect that kind of man except for the fact that I try not to respect anyone. That just leads to liking the person and then they die.
Pops waited until we were out of the narrow side street to fall back and speak with his goons. It was a slick maneuver too, he slipped back there without slowing the group down and they listened to what he had to say without argument. Just holstered their guns and pulled out some batons. My eyebrows crept a little higher on my face as I saw how cohesive this group was. It was a good thing, meant they had a slightly higher survival rate. But it was still a big group, too many people and things had a big tendency to go wrong with that many lives on the line.
Despite my misgivings, we made it past noon and nothing had actually come out to kill me and the sheep behind me. It was making me jumpy actually. I should have seen at least some sign of the Anomalies by now. They’re not a subtle group. What with the raving and cannibalism and tearing things apart. I think people would straight up call them zombies or some Hollywood schnazz like that except for the fact that these ‘Nomlies aren’t like Hollywood corpse eaters. Not sure what they are. I just know that these things chase you down and try to eat your face off. And they are as apt to chase the feral dogs and animals as they are us humans. Our only saving grace seemed to be that as their brutality and strength increased their ability to think decreased. Like a PCP addict given methamphetamines at the same time. Sadly, this meant that as long as they could get their hands on anything by way of food and water, they didn’t just rot away and die.
In the cities like this one, there were always ‘Nomlies; the ones that just shuffle around until they run into something to eat. And these suckers are good at finding food, from taking out each other to cornering weak survivors. But so far, this city seemed eerily clear of them. Maybe we really were starting to clear the streets out, us Guides, the Runners and the others who never stayed inside the New City walls. But I doubted that. No, I think there was something more sinister building in this city but I had no clue what just yet.
“Kid.” I heard Pops’ hiss at me, keeping the sound low but still getting my attention.
I looked back at him and the sheep and swore inside my head. They were starting to falter. Softies. I frowned and dropped back to talk with him, seeing the others gratefully pause to rest for a moment. “You think in the middle of the street is the best place for this?” I demanded when I was next to the old cop. He didn’t get a chance to respond, instead the other survivors all came over to huddle close. As if proximity to this old guy would keep them all alive longer. I frowned at them all, seeing one of the women huffing and covered in sweat. It wasn’t like we’d been running, though I had kept them all moving at a fast walk for a few hours. I eyed her critically, not seeing any obvious injury, though she looked a bit thick and out of shape, I figured all the really out of shape people had already been eaten or gone ‘Nomly. “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded bluntly, thinking that maybe the woman was just sick.
There was a young man hovering close to her and he stepped in even closer at my rude words. Like they’d hurt the chick. “She’s five months pregnant.” He snapped at me.
My eyebrows went up again. “Mazle Tov.” The heavy sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable and made several of the sheep bristle at me. They were all now gathering protectively around the breeder. I felt my lip start to raise and I turned away from them and started to walk again.
“Hey.” Pops growled at me as I walked past him and made his first mistake of the day. He put his hand on my shoulder to stop me.
There were a few muffled sounds of surprise from the sheep behind me as his move caused my instincts to snap into place. Big Ugly, my machete, jumped into my hand like a puppy eager for a petting and I had the sharp blade out and against Pops’ neck in a jiffy. You don’t survive as long as I have without some tightly wound habits.
Even with a big blade against his carotid, Pops had spunk. His eyes glared at me and his voice wasn’t strained. “They need to rest. It’s been hours of hiking through a metropolis. We need food and water and to sit down.” He commanded and I smirked at him.
They weren’t all going to survive. I knew that from the get go but I had figured we would make it to the night at least. But not if they were going to stop just because they were hot and tired. “Gobble and guzzle while we walk. You can sleep when I stop or you’re dead.” I replied and let the machete leave his neck.
“You’ve got a bad attitude kid.” Pops spat the moment his life wasn’t threatened.
“Fall behind and get left behind.” I simply replied and kept walking. Maybe it was time I stopped being a Guide for a bit after this trip. I was really starting to hate having to deal with this kind of drama.
