There were seven, and with her, that made eight. She had never seen draugar in a gathering this size, though Marty told her of the horde that traveled north. These seven must have been some kind of pack before they found her.
She had her sword out, ready to strike at any moment. But the draugar paid no heed to that—they just stood around her. What did they wait for?
She resumed her walk through Beaver Park and they followed her.
She wondered again what drew them to her. Not vision or sound, because she didn’t look like a draugar, and not smell, because she had been downwind of them. Not touch or taste. After the five senses, what remained?
A sixth sense. But maybe conventional. How do humans find each other without the five senses? Electronic communications, wired or not.
That must be it.
What did Alexander say—that they could be infected with nanobots? The nanobots could build anything, even copies of themselves, and they could build computer components from a body’s own carbon using carbon nanotubes. What if they built wireless transmitters and receivers? If so, they must have a range, and therefore she could travel outside of range. And she had never seen a draugar drive a vehicle or outrun a motor vehicle traveling at normal speeds.
So, if she wanted to “ditch” the draugar, she could get into a motor vehicle and lock the doors before the draugar could get inside. Also, if she could distract them somehow, she could run away. But the only way she knew to distract them was for them to attack humans.
During the walk, the draugar started to play with small rocks, throwing them and retrieving them, or throwing them at each other. They smiled. Whether the smile betrayed any emotion was unknown to Jocelyn. Again she realized this did not differ much from what animals did. In fact, they acted more like dogs or wolves.
Jocelyn hoped to get more food at the supermarket, but as she and the draugar approached it, four large men guarding the entrance dashed that hope. They were all in army fatigues with assault rifles at the ready. But she didn’t think they were military because they all had large beards. In fact, they looked like they were survivalists—maybe even from the same group as the ones that attacked her two days ago, though none of them resembled the two she allowed to escape. She saw one of them point in her direction, and they all started to move toward her and the draugar. The draugar grunted, growled, snarled and hissed and charged the survivalists.
Jocelyn watched in horror as the men crouched down on their knees and shot at the draugar in rapid succession. She dropped to the ground, and the draugar, riddled with bullets, halted their progress. They shielded Jocelyn from the gunfire, and she was unaware whether that was intentional. Shotgun blasts. She lifted her head up to see the men towering over the now-prone draugar with shotguns—she hadn’t spotted the shotguns before. Jocelyn put her face down on the asphalt as the men shot the draugar repeatedly in the head, spraying tissue and blood onto the back of Jocelyn’s body.
“Lady, are you hurt? It’s all over. You can get up now.”
The man who spoke took his hand in hers. “Let me help you up, lady.”
Jocelyn didn’t like the way he called her “lady.” She also didn’t like his breath. She stood up, scowling. He punched her in the mouth, turning her head to the side, and then a shot rang out and her shin exploded in pain. She stumbled to the ground and realized he’d shot her.
“Careful, Daryl,” said the man that had helped her up. “Don’t hurt the merchandise.” He snickered.
She tried to stand up but the pain was unbearable, and she collapsed.
All the men laughed.
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, toots.” She started to crawl backwards. They laughed again, this time even louder.
Once she traveled about fifty feet away, the pain in her shin subsided, but it was still covered in blood. She knew it would take a little time for the bullet to surface. Without putting too much weight on that leg, she stood up and, hopping on her “good” leg, she unsheathed her sword and displayed it drooping downwards, pretending it was heavy.
“Look Joe,” Daryl said. “We got ourselves a real fighter. Lady, why don’t you put away the toy and let me fuck you proper. In fact,” he looked back and forth at his compatriots, “Hell, you might even enjoy it.” He unzipped his pants and took out a mostly erect penis.
She made her move, putting her sword combat training to good use. She rushed up and kicked him on the balls and penis with the flat bottom of her foot. He cried out and stumbled backwards, landing on his ass.
Her biggest threat was the man just to the right of Daryl as she faced them because his assault rifle was close to ready. She sidestepped to her right and ran that man through the heart with her sword. He became bug-eyed and groaned. Then with one motion she pulled her sword out, arced her sword to the left, and sliced Joe’s throat, cascading blood down onto his chest. He started to make gurgling sounds—she must have severed his vocal cords—and he clutched at his throat in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding.
Good.
By now the man on the right had collapsed to the ground.
She turned to the last man standing. He went for his shotgun when she thrust her sword into his stomach. She looked into his eyes, and he stared into hers. By now Joe had fallen to the ground and stopped his gurgling. She pulled out her sword out of the last man, stepped back and kicked him in the wound for good measure. He tumbled backwards.
