“Ishould have explained it,” Diana says again.
She’s inconsolable. The bear is over it. He’s back in the river, smacking fish out of the water and onto the sand in front of us. He’s assured us that he much prefers fish to mammals who squeal and run when he tries to eat them. I’m not sure I believe him, but now that he’s bitten a zombie, I think even the slowest of us can outrun him.
“When?” Wheels says, his greedy eyes on the fish. “We barely had time to think once Emmy took us into battle with another zombie.”
Spike rolls her eyes at him, which is a kinder response than I have for the weasel.
“You can go,” I say, pointing the way downstream, where we came from.
“Alone? No thanks,” he says. “I’d rather be more careful. Why do we have to attack every zombie we come across? Can’t we just get back to the camp in one piece?”
“You can,” I say, pointing downstream again. If the weasel leaves, I just have to get Diana home, which will be much easier. I may not want to depend on a dog, but dogs are incredibly dependable.
“Can we not fight about this again?” Diana begs.
“Are you going to attack every zombie between us and the camp?” Wheels sputters.
“Zombie is dead,” I say, unwilling to give ground to a lesser mammal.
“Bear also dead,” Wheels snaps back at me.
I shove the weasel hard. He lands on his back, and I stand over him, my paws fisted. “Bear dead because bear stupid. Not because of me. Not because of Diana. Because bear is too stupid to know zombies.” Spike and Diana are watching us tensely, their respective ears flat against their heads.
“Is that enough fish?” the bear asks Diana, lumbering out of the water and breaking the tension for probably the first (and last) time in his life.
She’s about to apologize for the tenth time, so I answer for the group. “Yes. Debt paid.”
“You’re an odd creature,” the bear says, staring down at me. “Are you a small bear?”
I don’t know whether to be offended or complimented, but Wheels picks himself up from the sand where I shoved him and says, “Ha! I wish. She’s a hamster. Way worse.”
The way he says it, I am meant to be insulted. I am not. I am much scarier than a bear if this one is any representation of the species.
“Ham-star,” the bear says, trying the word out on his clumsy tongue, then sitting down on the beach with a thump. “And you’re obviously a weasel.”
Wheels nods, reaching for a fish.
“Dog,” the bear says, pointing at Diana, and then Spike, “and rabbit.”
They nod, and the bear tosses a fish down his gullet. “Never seen such a herd in my life.”
“Not a herd,” I correct automatically. Herds are too close to families.
“We’re from the same camp,” Diana says. “We’re trying to get back there.”
The bear looks confused again, so I take a bite of fish. The sooner we can fuel up and get on our way the better. The first fish is gone, so I start on the next, my stomach satisfied for the first time in a while.
“You travel upriver?” the bear asks, tossing fish bones over his massive shoulder.
“Apparently,” mutters the weasel.
“Yes,” answers Spike.
“I will come,” the bear announces. “More fish upstream, and you can tell me more about these zombies.”
We glance at each other. This bear is not going to have to worry about zombies for much longer. He bit one. Tasted its blood. He is not long for this world.
“Sure,” Wheels answers, surprising me.
The bear stands up on all four of his legs and shakes the water from his coat in a spray. “The ham-star will ride on my shoulders and tell me about zombies.”
I look up at him and think about how I will look riding a bear into battle. I am not displeased with the mental picture. Who needs a cape?
“I could … ride, and tell you about —” Wheels starts to say.
“Just the ham-star,” the bear interrupts before I can object. “I don’t trust weasels.”
Smarter than I thought.
THE BEAR STARTS OFF at a fast pace, calling questions over his massive shoulder to where I sit, holding on to a large tuft of his hair with my paw. Most of his questions are about how to kill zombies without biting them, which, I have to keep reminding him, won’t be a problem for him much longer as he will be dead. But he forgets his impending doom every twenty steps or so, asking questions that are no part of his future.
Diana has fallen behind to make the weasel keep pace. Spike is hopping from left to right ahead of us in a zig-zag, trying to cover all angles. I find myself wishing the cats were with us, because they know more about zombies than any other animal I know. Not so much Ginger, whom I suspect makes up for details he doesn’t know with exaggerated anecdotes, but Pickles has gathered a lot of information from her own travels and by listening to the humans at the camp. Hannah learned a lot about the zombies before she met Pickles, and even more about how other animals were fighting the zombies. Even Trip has added to my knowledge about zombies with his adventures rescuing the raccoons from that camp that was experimenting on them.
Am I really missing that misfit band of do-gooder felines? The ones who picked a useless weasel over me?
“And you fight these zombies,” the bear presses me.
“I kill zombies,” I clarify, glancing at the trees for movement. I thought I saw something in the shadows. More ravens? Damn my poor eyesight!
“Why?”
For a second, I’m confused by the question. There are no other options. This is a kill-or-be-killed moment in time.
“Kills zombies or die,” I say finally.
“But that zombie I bit,” the bear says, “he wasn’t going to kill you.”
“Kill someone,” I say. “Not me, but you, and some other animal. And another. And bite humans. Make more zombies. Kill all of us.”
“So, this odd herd of yours,” the bear says, “you search for zombies to kill? That is your purpose?”
“That is my purpose,” I reply without hesitation. “The rest are more interested in survival than revenge.”
The bear absorbs this, chewing it over slowly like he is eating a fish, and I think he’s finally done asking questions, which means I can finally stop talking. I glance back at Diana and notice she’s sniffing the air, ignoring the weasel, who is still wasting her time, battering her with questions.
“Who did the zombie kill?”
“Huh?” I say, my eyes on Diana and her brilliantly sensitive nose.
“You said revenge. Who are you avenging?” the bear asks.
I flash to two huge dogs, wrestling with zombies who just hours before had been our pets. Had loved us. And then betrayed us. I’ve opened my mouth to deny any such connection when streaking out of the darkening forest on our right dart a blur of wolves.
I leap off the bear, yelling for Diana, who starts in shock, her eyes wide and scared. I’m running toward her at top speed, but it’s not her the wolves are coming for.
“Come at me, you monsters,” yells Spike from the front of our train. I screech to a stop, realizing my mistake. I chose heart over brain again. A dog will be the death of me someday. Today, it might be the death of the Amazonian bunny.
“Spike,” squeaks the weasel from where he’s dropped to the sandy ground, his paws over his head.
“Don’t you dare play dead,” I growl over my shoulder.
One of the wolves snaps Spike up in his jaws, but her long, pointy stick keeps him from actually biting her in half. She’s cleverly wedged it into place so he can’t close his mouth. That and her warrior screams would probably choke him. The bear growls menacingly, but the wolves must smell that he’s in no condition to take them on because they just squirt around him and dodge his huge paw as if he’s moving in slow motion.
I’m running as fast as I can, Diana at first behind me and then overtaking me as the wolves turn in formation, looping back toward the forest.
I realize we’re not going to catch them before they get to the trees, and Diana accelerates, catching up with the slowest of the wolves, snapping at its heels. I have never been more impressed with her. I don’t know what she would do if he actually stopped to fight, but maybe she’s counting on me to take over the battle. I’d be happy to if they would just slow the heck down. By the Girth of the Capybara, these wolves are fast!
All the canines, the enemies and the ally, disappear into the trees before I even make it to the edge of the forest. I’m still running so hard I can barely breathe, dodging roots, trying to keep Diana’s orange coat in my sights, when the ground drops out from under me and I know no more.