“Daniel Humphreys is doing amazing things with his series. Survival for his characters is hard-earned. A strong apocalyptic story.” — Jay Wilburn
Teaser from
A Place Outside the Wild
by Daniel Humphreys
The southern fence wasn’t much to look at compared to the rest of the perimeter. It consisted of cemented, eight-foot steel posts placed at regular intervals. It had taken two layers of chain link to span the entire height. A stabilizing bar interleaved the upper and lower sections, and twisted wire every few inches kept the assembly together. It looked impressive, but it wasn’t the community’s first line of defense.
The real defense was in the creek.
After centuries of ongoing erosion, the creek sat eight feet below the surrounding pasture. The banks held a near-vertical slope, and only intermittent growths of weeds sprouted from the damp earth. Footing was uncertain at the best of times, and chunks of the bank slipped into the creek with every rain. The rock formations that had given Stone Creek its name were long quarried. All that remained was thick, viscous clay.
Alex Worthington knew none of these facts on an intellectual level. His understanding was one that came from long hours of contemplation and consideration. The fence sat far enough from the edge of the creek that it wasn’t susceptible to ongoing erosion. This created a viewing angle that blocked any inspection of either bank from ground level. All he got from his position behind the fence was the vague sense of a slight depression in the ground.
To the east and west, the creek meandered back and forth. This provided scant glances down into the depths when he chose to make the study. Once or twice he’d had the urge to scale the fence for a closer look, but he’d been able to resist it. His current position was familiar and comfortable. The wall guards would see him in short order on top of the fence, though that was a reason he’d never admit to himself. Teenage bravado refused to allow it.
He was short for 12-going-on-13; skinny, dark of hair, and tanned beechnut brown. He wore dark brown hiking boots, a pair of often-patched jeans, and a faded Captain America T-shirt. The stock of the .22-caliber rifle lying across his legs was just a bit less worn than its owner. Despite the wear, the rifle was well-tended and completely functional.
Defiant of the slight chill in the air, Alex sat with crossed legs on the ground just behind the fence. He conducted a silent assessment of the pasture on the other side. The only clue to his focus was the restless motion of his eyes as they flickered back and forth in a narrow arc. The grass around him stirred in the wind.
At once, a new, almost furtive sound came from across the creek. It was different enough from the whisper of grass on grass to bring a smirk of recognition to Alex’s face. He stuck a pair of fingers in his mouth and whistled. The noise shifted in response, moving from a slow whisk-whisk to a rapid shuffle.
One could almost say that the noise sounded excited.
The crest of a balding head rose up behind a hillock on the opposite bank. Many of the bald patches went to the bone, and all was the gray of dirty dishwater rather than the expected white.
The grown-ups had all sorts of names for the gray people surrounding them, but Alex preferred his own. He’d been too young for zombie movies on Z-Day. Biter had just never made sense to him, so he went with his own appellation.
Alex opened his mouth and called out, “Come and get it, creep! Bring any friends?”
The noise struck the creep like a lightning bolt. He wasn’t a moaner, which was too bad. That made sense; as he crested the rise Alex spotted the torn-out gouges in the thing’s neck. It was a wonder it was still up and at it given the size of that freaking hole. Alex marveled at the dimensions of it. Anything the creep swallowed had a better than 50-50 shot of just plopping out onto the ground. And, he noted, as the thing came into view, there were — whew! — still a vestige of pants on it, though exposure to the elements had left them shredded and rotten. Looking at creep junk was pretty much the only thing that made him feel in any way queasy.
###
Check out A Place Outside the Wild by Daniel Humphreys.
Jay's Patreon Page | Purchase Signed Books