Free Five Days Dead by James Davis

throat. “Always thought zombies were neands, the most radical of the radical neands. Surprised to learn they aren’t.”
    “Of course they’re neands.” Victor responded.
    “No. They’re not. I had never thought about how or where they get their ink. I mean, I knew it had to come from somewhere, but I just never considered the where or how. But then I was watching the Wrynd tribe you plan to walk this man and his children into, and I saw King Orrin receive his latest shipment of ink. It came by stork. Bit of a surprise to see a stork hover down and drop off a rather large package of illegal drug to a Wrynd tribe in the middle of the Wilderness. The bigger surprise was when I realized he wasn’t wearing an eyeset. That’s when I understood ol’ King Orrin had a linktag and had ordered up his batch of ink through the Link. And it just got me wonderin’ how in the world could that be, that the Marshals of the Federation, the defenders of the New Age of Discovery you’re so proud of, how could they not know that the Wrynd were on the Link?”
    “They’re not on the Link. They’re outcast chattel and if they come near the Hub, we deal with them. If they don’t we let the Rages have them.”
    “But they still managed to walk right into the Utah Hub and steal this man’s wife, the mother of his children?”
    “They’re not on the Link.” Victor’s left jaw was flexing as he ground his teeth. Harley pressed on.
    “You’re a liar Deputy Shelley. Or a fool. If they’re on the Link, and they are, then the Federation could stop them anytime they wanted. So they must not want to stop them. I wonder why?” 
    Victor took a step toward him and Harley caught a scent on the soft breeze swirling through the canyon, a hint of decay and blood and filth that blended with the death around them too late for him to not recognize its source. His hand drifted to his sidearm.
    “Since we’re about to meet up with the Wrynd, why don’t we just wait and ask them?”

Chapter Seven
     
    Hunted
     
    You couldn’t see them yet, you couldn’t hear them, but on the soft breeze of the morning, you could smell the rot of them.
    “What?” Quinlan asked and moved closer to his children.
    Harley nodded toward the slide. “They’re coming.”
    Victor pulled his blaster from its holster and the scye dropped to his shoulder. “How many?”
    Harley faced the slide but didn’t bother pulling his sidearm. It was too early for any of that. “Do I look clairvoyant?”
    Victor scowled and his scye rocketed into the sky and disappeared over the horizon. “Ten,” Victor said a moment later. “Ten of them and Orrin is leading the way.”
    “Royal hunting party then.” Harley planted his feet wide and stood up straight, ready, waiting. “At least we’ll be part of a feast fit for a king. Boy, you’d better get those little ones in the truck.”
    Quinlan grabbed Raizor and tossed her in the back of the truck and Noah clambered in behind her. He slammed the tailgate shut and closed the shell hatch and came to stand next to Harley with the baseball bat in his hand. Harley shook his head sadly and handed him the pulse rifle he had taken off the legionnaire who whispered in a dying breath that the end was coming. 
    The Wrynd came over the crest of the slide at a dead run, moaning their idiotic war cry and by their speed Harley knew things were not going to end well. They were in the midst of a full ink flare and would be hungry for flesh. King Orrin led the way, his massive arms and legs pumping to reach the five of them first. Right beside him ran a slim, athletic woman with the same crazed look on her face as the others. Her hair was long and very black and a tattoo transformed the right side of her face into a gaping, fleshless skull. A bright green and bloody wrap covered her small breasts and her midsection was flat and hard. Shorts clung to powerful looking legs. Harley thought she would be stunning but for the fact that she was