Chapter 16 #2
Once his scent was on every inch of his mate, the tiger growled before nudging the fire fox over to the path Sawyer had taken.
Glenn was still unhappy with Alex’s insistence on accompanying him though his mate did have a point; Sawyer belonged to both of them and Glenn had to prove to his mates that he’d meant what he said about including them.
Stepping aside so Alex could precede him into the forest, he heard his tiger protest the move, but quickly shut him down.
Being mated meant compromising and if he was going to make an effort to do it, his tiger damn well could, too.
The forest quickly swallowed Alex’s fox up, bringing back his fear of the unknown.
Having never shifted outside while growing up, it was something he usually avoided, even after his father died.
Without the lessons parents normally gave to their fox cubs about scenting and avoiding danger, Alex felt vulnerable the few times he tried it.
But this was a new feeling, altogether. With his tiger mate behind him, a sense of confidence filled him, making Alex’s fox eager to explore the depths of the woods.
Trotting quickly along the leaf-strewn, mossy path, Alex’s fox lifted his nose in the air, seeking Sawyer’s scent. Finally catching it, he gave a short bark, signaling that they were headed in the right direction.
Answering with a low growl, Glenn’s tiger followed his little mate, keeping an eye out for signs of danger from animals who might object to them encroaching on their territory.
It wasn’t like him to forge ahead on a mission without first checking out all possible obstacles, but his behavior had caused Sawyer pain, and healing that pain took priority over everything else.
So here he was, padding behind Alex’s fox, trying to safeguard one mate from the dangers in the forest while seeking the other so he could apologize.
If his friends ever found out how careless he’d been in planning this search, they’d never let him forget it.
Sighing, his tiger went back to searching the forest surrounding them, listening for every sound.
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Squatting down, Galen stared at the pale, blood-streaked face. Even though the man’s eyes were closed, he held his sword at the ready, just in case.
“Is he dead, Gally?” asked Eamon, his voice quivering at the possibility.
“I don’t know,” Galen muttered before deciding to poke the body with the point of his sword.
Jabbing several times, he frowned when the flesh didn’t yield.
Trying again in a different place, he poked the man’s leg, getting the same results.
The man’s body was like stone. Rising, Galen backed away from the man.
“He’s dead, right?” Eamon cried.
“Don’t know…go get Carsso,” Galen ordered.
“Nooo…he’s gonna blame me,” Eamon whispered, a big tear rolling down his cheek.
Glancing over at his brother, Galen said, “No he won’t cuz you didn’t murder him.”
“I did, too!” Eamon yelled.
“No, you didn’t!”
“I did! I stabbed him with my sword!”
Rolling his eyes, Galen said, “You tripped over his foot.”
“But my sword stabbed him!”
Exasperated, Galen said, “Fine, you stay here and I’ll go get Carsso.”
Eamon’s eyes grew wide as he backed further away from the man. “No way I’m stayin’ with a dead man.”
“Then go get Carsso!”
“Uh-uh…I’m not leavin’ you alone with him,” Eamon said, staring at the unmoving man. “It’s not safe.”
“He’s dead! He can’t hurt me!” Galen shouted.
“Maybe he’ll come back to life…like a zombie,” Eamon whispered.
“I’m tellin’ ya, there ain’t no zombies,” Galen said.
“Oh yeah? Then why is there a word for them if there ain’t none?”
“Duh! Because someone made it up!”
“You’re lyin’. Nobodies makes up words,” Eamon said, angrily.
Shaking his head, Galen muttered, “There ain’t no zombies.”
“I’m tellin’ Carsso you’re lyin’ again.”
“No I’m not!” Galen retorted. “Take it back!”
“You are too, lyin’! You said there ain’t no zombies and there is.”
“Prove it!”
Eamon’s eyes shifted to the man. Pointing, he said, “There’s one.”
“He’s not a zombie cuz he ain’t moving,” Galen said smugly.
“Yeah, he is,” Eamon insisted.
“Show me,” Galen said, turning his attention to the man on the ground.
Eamon peered around his brother’s shoulder, his eyes traveling down the length of the body, finding no signs of life.
“See…he’s dead, not a zombie,” said Galen, smugly.
“Maybe it’s gotta be dark first,” Eamon said.
“Or maybe there ain’t no zombies!”
“Help…meee.”
Taking several steps backward, Eamon whispered, “Gally did ya hear that?”
Galen’s eyes had widened after hearing the faint voice. “Yeah…was that you?”
“Uh-uh,” Eamon whispered. “It’s the zombie.”
Signaling his brother to remain quiet, Galen looked around before his eyes settled on the dead man, waiting for a sign of life from him. Hearing nothing more after a minute of silence, he announced, “It’s the wind.”
“The wind wants us to help it?”
“Help…help meee…pleeease…”
Shaking in fear, Eamon didn’t wait to see what happened next. Spinning around, he took off running as fast as his legs could carry him, screaming, “CARRSSSSOOO!”
“Pleeease….help”
After hearing the dead man speak again, Galen backed up further, shifting from foot to foot while trying to decide if Eamon was right about zombies. Suddenly the man’s fingers twitched. Letting out a scream, Galen turned and ran, following in his brother’s footsteps toward home.