The Amalgamation Of Two Worlds

Prologue

** Years before the mutt epidemic***

I suppose I should have been ready for this. I suppose I should have seen it coming, and heeded my father’s warnings and prepared. I suppose I should have done a lot of things. But it was too late. Too late to fix it, and too late for everything.

I had always thought of myself as a smart little boy. At the age of eight, I already outsmarted my ten year old brother, and I even stumped my twin sisters, who were soon to be sixteen, at times. I thought I owned the world, for if myself, an eight year old boy, could stump someone so much older, what couldn’t I do?

My father always lectured me, warning me not to get ahead of myself. For I was still young, still just a runt, and that brains wouldn’t come in handy when you’re up against a group of men ready to kill you. When he would ramble on, I would nod and agree, knowing it was the only way that I would ever escape his words. And it would work. He’d ruffle my mess of hair, tell me he was proud, then send me off to go play. I never really took in his words, and I realize now that was a mistake. I should have listened to him, and I should have felt a swelling of pride when he announced his own pride for me.

So now, even with my superior intellect swimming around in my head, I found myself frozen. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move... I just couldn’t do anything. My mind had failed me as he had said, and what did I have to show for it? Nothing, unless you count the corpses that now scattered my father’s living room. He was apart of them. As was my mother; my sweet, caring, unselfish mother. My twin sisters also lay among them, their throats torn out, unable to even scream in pain. Then there was my brother. My older quiet, shy, brother. He wasn’t dead yet, and that made it worse.

He had a gaping hole in his chest, and cuts scattering his face. His throat was gasping noisily, the sound of blood gurgling almost deafening to my ears. His eyes were locked onto mine, pain and fear and confusion mingled in it. I wanted to help him. I wanted to come up with some incredible plan that would allow myself to save him and bring my family back alive, for surely they weren’t dead, right? It was like in all those books I read, where they were only faking. And if they weren’t, they’d miraculously pop up and be okay. I tried to think of something, but all I could think was there’s so much blood. I was frozen in fright, and I hated myself for it.

I watched the life slip from my brother’s eyes. I watched them plead, I watched them swim with pain... and yet I still couldn’t move. I should have. I should have run when my parents were killed. I should have when my sisters had their throat torn out, and I should have when they were distracted with my brother... but now it was too late.

Their attention was on me, and me alone. I was the only one left living, so what would they do about it? They would kill me, obviously. That much my mind put together, but for some reason, I still couldn’t command my legs to run. I was a coward and wimp, and shame flooded my thoughts. My father would be disgraced.

There were five of them. All dressed in black, but all un-hooded. Their eyes were pure black and what I assumed to be paint, was smeared around their eyes, giving off a racoon appearance. On each of their faces, on the left, was a large gouge. From their left eye, to the bottom of their chin, lay a scar that dug deep into their faces. All wore them, and all seemed almost proud.

They were taunting me, they were circling me, and yet I still couldn’t move. All I could do was stand there and cry. Once again, I found myself thinking of how much my father would be disgraced. I wasn’t suppose to cry. I wasn’t suppose to be frozen... I was supposed to be brave. But I couldn’t even do that.

When the one in front of me raised his sword, I did what any other coward would do; I closed my eyes and covered my head.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I waited. I waited for the pain. For the blinding agony before nothing. I knew dying would either be fast and painless, or slow and agonizing. I knew there was a good chance there was no afterlife, and I knew that they wouldn’t spare me. Why spare a small boy?

But the blow didn’t come immediately. Instead, the sound of a door being slammed open came. At this I peeked through my fingers to find my would-be-murderers, all staring at the door. And for the first time that evening, I found my legs working.

If my would-be-murderers were afraid of who was coming through the door, didn’t that mean I could trust them? Maybe my logic was faulty, maybe I was just being a hopeful little kid, but I tried for it anyway. They were too distracted to notice me at first, but when they did, the man who had been ready to kill me, lunged.

I wish I could say I kept running, but I didn’t. I screamed and cowered. But once again, the blow didn’t come, but an assault to my ears did. I peeked through my fingers again, to see a different man, one not dressed like the others, fighting with the guy ready to kill me. More men filed in through the door, and some women. I expected a giant brawl to issue, but when my would-be-murderers saw the number of people coming in... they bolted. They turned and left through the back. Now, as I learned about culture in my home town, I learned that there are two things you don’t do when you’re a man. First, you don’t run away. Something I already broke. And second, you don’t let your prey escape... which the new-comers allowed.

The man who had saved me was around the same age of my father, only taller and in better shape. I didn’t take much more notice to his appearance, for what did it matter?

He approached me slowly, a tentative smile on his face. I couldn’t push away the fear still swirling in myself, but I tried to act brave. He saved me. Why would he save me to kill me? It didn’t make sense, so logically I was safe, right?

“I’m sorry about your family.” He said in a soft voice, kneeling down in front of me. My eyes scanned the wreckage, taking in the bodies, the blood, the emptiness. A disturbing amount of pain hit me but I held my chin high anyways. Tears glistened in my eyes, but I did my best not to let them fall. I failed quite a few times, but I preferred to think otherwise. “My name’s Mackenzie, but you can me Mack. How’s that little guy?”

“My name’s Hayden.” I finally murmured. I cringed at how high pitched my voice was. Mackenzie, however, smiled.

“Well, Hayden. I know you don’t know me, but how would you like to come with us? We’ll protect you.” My eyes glanced around at the other people, whom all, for the most part, were smiling kindly at me. I nodded.

“Who are you?” I wasn’t foolish to believe they were one big happy family. They weren’t related, so why were they together? Why did they chase off the other group?

“Hayden, we’re the Zaccur.”