Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western (10 page)

Connor grunted and shoved himself to his feet. "No more drinking before bed," he grumbled as he reached for his boots.

Cora had left his pants on, but she had removed his outer shirt for him. He grabbed it off the hook by the door and buttoned it as he clomped down the stairs. He left his coat where it was hanging on the hook but popped his hat on his head. Last but not least, he grabbed his belt and hooked it around his waist. He only felt whole with his gun by his side and his hat on his head.

He walked around back and relieved himself before he trudged inside. Instead of going back upstairs, he opened the door to the jailhouse and lit the lantern on his desk. He had some paperwork he still had to do from the brawl earlier, some legal mumbo-jumbo that was required back east on one of the men, so he kicked back in his chair at his desk and picked up the letter he had been working on. He stared at the page, but the words blurred into black squiggles. He put in a valiant effort, but his mind was still reeling from the dream. He tossed the paper back on the desk.

"Balls," he mumbled as he stood up. He walked out onto the porch. The torches up and down the street were lit, but it was late enough at night that everyone was in bed. Loud snores echoed from across the street and down two houses. Robert Zane, the butcher, was the noisiest man Connor had ever known. He was loud and boisterous, his laugh could be heard across town, and he was an even louder drunk. The man had spent more than one night in the jailhouse and Connor received complaints on a weekly basis from citizens who wanted his snoring to stop. But besides all that, Robert was a good man that Connor would trust with his life. He treated his wife and kids well and he was always willing to lend a hand whenever anyone needed it. He gave deep discounts to the poorer residents in town, often earning a rebuke and complaint from the richer folk.

Connor's lips twitched into a brief smile as he stepped down onto the street. He walked up the street a ways, checking that his town was safe and sound, then he turned around and wandered back the other way. Not a thing moved. A few dogs lay on porches guarding their domain, but they were used to his late night ramblings and most didn't even open an eye to look at him. For a good half hour, Connor leaned against the post by the jailhouse. He listened to the night noises and chewed his lip as thoughts ran through his head.

A snort drew his attention. He glanced up. A horse was barely visible in the black on the edge of how far he could see. He pushed himself from the post and walked back inside to get his jacket. He slipped it on and tightened his belt. He drew his pistols and double-checked that they were loaded. Then he went out onto the porch to see what was going on.

"We can't stay here." Charity paced in front of the cold fireplace. She was alone in the living room with Little Bear and Walton. It annoyed her to have to speak through a translator, but Little Bear's English was very minimal and she had no clue what language he even spoke. She had no interest in learning, either.

"What would you have us do? We cannot just attack towns like rogue bandits on the run."

She stopped and placed her fists on her hips. Standing in front of the chair, she could see the stain on the floor where Isabelle had died. Where she killed her. Charity's mouth watered just thinking of the delicious flesh.

"Charity."

Little Bear's voice snapped her back to the present and she angled herself so she could no longer see the dried blood. "We are running out of food," she continued. "We will not last here much longer. They are already getting restless. They want to hunt, they want to move. And besides, the cattle are disgusting. The meat doesn't taste right. It doesn't satisfy our hunger."

Little Bear laughed, but it held no humor, just annoyance. "No, it does not taste as good, but it supplies what we need. That is enough."

Charity growled. "Enough? What do you think we are? Animals? Lowly creatures who don't deserve to thrive? We have the power. Why don't we just go take a town? What can they do to us? Why do we sit here and suffer when--"

He smiled and cut her off with an upheld hand. "Have patience, my queen. We--"

"I know, I know. We will have our vengeance." Her tone was mocking. She scoffed at him. "It's not my vengeance. It's yours. And you've had it. You killed the men who killed your family and destroyed your village. You turned them into worthless creatures just like you. Good for you. Congratulations. Now what? You just want to wander all over the desert, afraid of everything, attacking little piddly farms and feeding on livestock?" She waved her arms in the air and began pacing again. "You were given a great gift! The chance to be better, to be more than what you were before. Why won't you use it? Why do you hide in shame instead of ruling the world like you're meant to?"

Little Bear's black hair floated in front of his face as he shook his head. "It was not meant for that, my queen."

"Stop calling me your queen. We don't have an empire to rule, so I can't be a queen and you can't be a king."

Little Bear stared at her for a long time before he spoke. "No, we do not have an empire. But we have a clan. We have people who are counting on us to lead them, to keep them alive."

Charity laughed. "They're mindless monsters. You're not keeping them alive. You're not leading them at all. All you're doing is keeping them penned up like animals. Like hungry, starving lions. They are turning on each other. There are too many and not enough food."

"We will move on shortly. My scouts are out looking for a new farmhouse, for a new place for us. We will leave when they return."

Charity shook her head and growled. "We need more than a farmhouse. We need a town! We need a good supply of food and more people to turn." She dropped to her knees in front of him and gripped his hands tightly in hers. "How do you not see what we can do? The possibilities are endless. We are powerful, more powerful than mere people. We can take over the West, we can make it our own. We can rule and be true royalty. Make me your queen for real."

Charity stared up into the red pits in the middle of Little Bear's face. She pleaded with him, she begged him. But he would not yield. "We are not an army, Charity. We will not become an army. We are creatures of vengeance, sent to mete out punishment on those who deserve it. We will not attack towns and villages that have done no wrong."

Charity clenched her teeth together and stood. "You are a fool and a hypocrite," she said. With one last glare, she turned from him and stomped out of the house into the darkness.

David sat on the porch, staring blankly into nothingness. Charity sat down beside him. "You agree with me, don't you, David?"

He grunted. That was the most he ever said anymore. He was never much of a talker, but now speaking to him was like having a conversation with a pig. But even a pig was more interesting. David just did what he was told and ate. He never moved aside from that. He was the perfect husband, exactly what any woman would want, obedient to the core, but now she realized she wanted something more. She needed a man who could stand beside her, someone who could stand up to her, but also someone who would share her vision for the future. Someone to fight the battles she started. She needed a warrior.

Little Bear was not a warrior. He sat in his chair pretending to rule over a horde of mindless beasts. He was a false king, nothing more. Charity needed a knight. She needed someone like herself. Someone who retained their intelligence after being bitten, someone who could think for themselves and actually do something worthwhile. She wouldn't find them here, not among the chattel of Little Bear's "clan".

Little Bear was so shortsighted. He couldn't see the future ahead of them. He couldn't plan for anything but their next meal. Charity wasn't at all like him. She had plans. She had always had plans, but now her plans were bigger. Much bigger. The moment she saw the horde of mindless creatures in the barn, the gears began to turn. He had called her his queen. She wouldn't be his queen. Not ever. She would be her own queen, the ruler of her very own nation.

She leaned back in her chair and smiled at David. "Thank you," she said.

He grunted again, but he didn't look at her. She smirked. He hadn't given her what she wanted, but he had inadvertently given her what she needed. She laughed as she thought of his parents back in New York, unaware of the fate of their son. Should she send them a letter? Advise them of his death? She shook her head. No. They didn't deserve it. Not after the way they treated her. The ranch would be deserted when Little Bear's group left. The weekly letters he wrote to his mother had already stopped. His family would go weeks, maybe months, without word from their youngest, dearest son. Then someday his father would send someone to check on them. But they would be gone. All of them. All that would be left behind would be blood and bones. She laughed. They would have no clue what happened to David. They would never even be able to guess.

Charity stifled a cackle. She had her revenge on his parents. Now she just needed to figure out how to handle Little Bear, how to usurp him and take over his small army, to make it her own. They would listen to her, she was sure. She was a better speaker than him and they already obeyed her instantly. But Little Bear was stronger than her physically. She had seen him snap the neck of one of the men without so much as straining a muscle. She needed to figure out how to catch him off guard, how to take him unawares.

She was pondering that when the scouts returned. It was dark and they shuffled along like the other mindless beasts. She heard the door open behind her. Little Bear came out, followed as always by Walton.

"Did you find anything?"

One of the men shuffled up to the bottom of the steps. He wasn't smart like she was, but he wasn't totally stupid, either. He had retained a few of his memories and was good at following commands. She might make him one of her captains when she formed her army for real.

The man nodded. "A farmhouse. Two days from here. That way." He pointed behind the house.

"Were there people there?"

The man nodded again. "Two men. Four women."

Charity noticed the hesitation as the man spoke. Little Bear did, too. "And?"

"One boy and two women..." He paused and fidgeted.

"Well?"

"They escaped."

Little Bear's growl echoed across the flat land. "You let someone get away?"

"The boy was bitten." The man shrugged as if it made a difference.

Little Bear snarled and leapt off the porch. He grabbed the man and tore his head halfway off before tossing his body away. Charity sighed inwardly as she watched the body twitch on the ground. He would have made a good captain, she thought.

Little Bear turned to the others who stood behind the fallen man. "We never leave witnesses! Ever! They cannot know we exist. Go find them. Find the survivors and kill them."

The men shuffled away and Charity stood up. "It doesn't matter. The one who was bitten will turn. Then he will kill the others."

Little Bear turned on her. "And if he does not? If he turns them instead? Or if they reach town before he turns? Can you imagine what will happen then? No, you cannot. I thought you were smart, but you are very small-minded. You do not see beyond your own desires. You do not see what could befall us should we be discovered."

He shook his head at her and walked back into the house, slamming the door shut before Walton could follow him in. The soldier hesitated on the porch for several minutes. He would put his hand on the door handle for a moment, then take it off again. He was trained to follow Little Bear, but his master's actions had left him without direction. Charity rolled her eyes and sighed. "I am surrounded by morons."

She walked off the porch into the darkness. She used to be afraid of the dark before she was turned. She used to hate going outside the light where the animals prowled. Now she loved the middle of the night. She was strong and powerful, greater than any living creature. No person and no beast could touch her. She was a predator, the most powerful predator alive. Or dead. She wasn't quite sure yet. Either way, she was in charge. Or she would be. Soon. She walked out past the fields and stared at the moon in the sky. It was big and bold and beautiful, just like she was.

Hannah's forehead rested against Abigail's shoulder as they plodded along the dirt track that served as the main road into Lonesome Ridge. Wyatt slouched against the neck of the plow horse. His fingers were tangled in the creature's mane and he listed dangerously to the side as the old beast trudged along. Both creatures were exhausted, but they kept moving faithfully down the familiar road.

That was one of the few things Abby could be thankful for. She stared at the dark road ahead as memories of her mother, father, and sister played through her mind. She tried to focus on the good times, on Christmases and summer socials, on laughter and happiness. It wasn't working. Every time she pictured one of their faces, it was the last time she saw them. Dying, dead. Gone. And then the image would be replaced by the men who attacked them...

Abby shuddered and shook her head to clear the image. There was something very wrong with those men. They were not normal. They were not human. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were dead, but that was ridiculous. How could they be dead? They were clearly alive enough to kill her family.

When she was sure none of the creatures were following them, she pulled the horses to a stop beside a small stream. As she helped Hannah slide off, Wyatt's horse found its own way to the stream and began drinking. She walked over to him and gently shook his arm. He groaned, but didn't make any effort to get down.

"Wyatt?"

He turned his head on the horse's neck and looked at her with sad, tired eyes. He made no other effort to move, so she pulled up his pant leg to look at the wound. It was swollen around the edges and still bleeding. His skin was pale and hot. She patted his knee before turning to her little sister.

"Hannah, can you help me get him down, please? We need to get his leg cleaned so it doesn't get infected."

The younger woman's blond hair was matted and scraggly from the night's stress. She ran a hand through it as she crossed the short distance. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she approached and her eyes went wide with horror.

"That smells awful."

Wyatt's voice was so low they could barely hear it, but he finally spoke. "Thanks, sis." He gave her a weak smile.

Hannah grinned at him, but she avoided his eyes. She took his leg carefully in her hands as Abby gripped his waist.

"Okay, lean into me, Wyatt." As he slid toward her, Abby let her hands slide up until they were under his arms, then she gently pulled him off the horse. Together, the sisters half carried, half dragged their brother to the stream.

Abby ripped his pant leg so she could see the wound better. The full moon gave her plenty of light to see by and she cleaned the wound as best she could.

"It won't stop bleeding," she said as she pressed the cloth to the hole. Frowning, she ripped a strip from her shirt and bound Wyatt's leg. Blood continued to seep through, but there was nothing more she could do. "We have to get him to the doctor soon."

Hannah bit her lip as she looked back at the horse. "How do we get him back up?"

It took both of them all their strength and a lot of creativity, but they managed to hoist him back onto the horse. Soon they were on their way again.

As they settled back into the quiet of the ride, Abby longed for another distraction. Her mind raced and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She tried to will them away, but they ignored her and broke over her eyelashes to stream down her face. They tumbled unbidden down her cheeks and onto the horse's dusty coat.

They flowed unchecked until Lonesome Ridge came into blurry view on the horizon. Abby blinked rapidly and took several deep breaths to regain her composure. Her heart lightened a mere fraction as hope grew with the buildings. The town was seated on a ridge overlooking the river below. It used to be one of Abby's favorite sights. As much as she loved living on the farm with her family, the monthly visits to town were a treat. The ride was long, but she had loved every minute of it. The ride would hold no joy for her now, though.

Abby bit her lip as they entered the town. The torches were still lit, but it was very late. Even the drunkards and saloon girls were sleeping. She decided to go straight to Doc Whitman's instead of waking the sheriff. She had known the doctor most of her life. He came to Lonesome Ridge just before Hannah was born. He had saved her mother during a very difficult childbirth. There was nothing the sheriff could do for her family anyway. Doc Whitman would patch Wyatt up and give them a place to sleep for the rest of the night. Then tomorrow she could figure out a plan and talk to Sheriff McClane.

The horses plodded down the middle of the street, bone tired and as much in need of rest as their passengers. Their hooves made hollow sounds as they thudded against dry dirt packed solid from years of near constant use.

Abby's jumped as a door to her right creaked open. She blinked into the torch hanging on the post nearby. The bars on the window told her it was the jail before she recognized the man standing in the darkened doorway. The sheriff stepped out into the light and tipped his hat toward her as she stopped the horses. Hannah roused herself behind Abby. Her grip on Abby's stomach increased almost to the point where Abby couldn't breathe.

"Ladies," the sheriff said as he came off the steps toward them. His eyes were shadowed but his hand was on the pistol at his side. Not for the first time on that long trip Abby berated herself for losing her shotgun. She could have made a stand, she could have saved her family.

"It's awful late for you kids to be out and about. Something happen back home?"

Abby clenched her teeth together and nodded. She started to shake so badly she could barely hold onto the horse's mane. Tears rushed down her cheeks in torrents. Her chest seized and she bent over, sobbing.

"Shhh," Hannah whispered behind her as she stroked her oldest sister's hair. "We're safe now. The sheriff will take care of us."

Sheriff McClane stepped closer and put his hand on the horse's neck. Concern was heavy on his face now that the girls could see it in the light. "What happened? Where's your ma and pa? Madeleine?"

Abby shook her head, unable to speak. Hannah squeezed her shoulder and tried to explain. "They...," she whispered, but her voice trailed off into tears.

When Wyatt coughed behind them, Abby's eyes shot wide and her crying came to a sudden halt. In her grief, she had forgotten his leg. She pulled herself out of the pit of despair she had been sinking into and spun around on the horse. "Wyatt's been bit, sheriff. He needs help bad." Her voice cracked with the sob that still sat in her chest

With a nod, the sheriff walked over to the boy. He pulled away the bandage to look at the wound in the flickering light of a nearby torch. As the stench hit the air, he sucked in a breath through his teeth and jerked away. The movement threw Wyatt off balance and the boy canted dangerously sideways. He was so weak, his fingers slipped through the horse's mane without making an attempt to hold on. As he toppled off the horse, the sheriff grabbed for him and managed to slow his fall.

With a grunt, the older man hefted the boy into his arms. He stomped up the steps to the door to the jailhouse and kicked it open with a foot. "Amos," he called in a voice barely louder than a whisper as the door banged against the wall. In short time, the deputy trotted out the door, pulling his pants on as he went. He pulled up short when he saw Sheriff McClane and the girls. "What's happened?"

"Take the horses to the stable and get them cared for, then meet me at Doc Whitman's."

Amos glanced quickly at the horses, then nodded and disappeared inside. He returned in the blink of an eye with two lengths of rope. As the girls slid off their horse, the deputy tied the ropes around the animals' necks. He led them off toward the far end of town to the public stables.

"Come on. This way."

The girls knew the way to Doc Whitman's by heart, but they followed the sheriff like lost puppies who were far from home. When they reached the doctor's house, Connor laid the boy on a bench just outside the door. His knocks were heavy. They thundered out across the street and echoed off the buildings. Hannah jumped and stepped closer to Abby. The older girl slipped her arm around her younger sister and pulled her close.

A light came on in the doctor's house and in several houses down the street. The sheriff picked the boy back up and stood in front of the door. It swung open to reveal a disheveled Doctor Jacob Whitman in his night clothes. Behind him stood his nurse, Eva, Wyatt's bride-to-be. She held a candle high so that it shined on the visitors. When she realized who it was, her eyes went wide and her lip began to quiver. The doctor gave Connor and the boy a quick once over and stepped aside without a word.

The girls followed Connor into the house. The sheriff broke to the left and laid Wyatt on the table in the doctor's office. Eva pushed her way past the doctor and grabbed the boy's hand. "Wyatt? Wyatt, can you hear me?"

Doc Whitman gripped her shoulders gently and pulled her away. "Eva, I need you to focus. We need light, and you need to bring me some boiling water and my tools."

Eva stood staring at Wyatt for several seconds before she shook her head and ran off to follow the doctor's orders. She put a kettle over the fire to boil and laid out his tools, then she scurried around the house lighting candles and lanterns.

"He was bitten," the sheriff said as Doc Whitman pulled the small tool tray over.

Doc Whitman grabbed a pair of shears and cut away Wyatt's pant leg. The smell began to permeate the room as he pulled the bandage off. He pressed the back of his hand to his nose and made the same noise the sheriff had. The wound was dripping with blood and pus.

"Bitten? By what? It almost..." He paused and grabbed a magnifying glass from the table.

Abby watched him as he inspected her brother's leg. The confusion and doubt on his face mingled with her own tiredness. She felt like she was going crazy. She felt like she was dreaming, lost in a strange world. She began to question everything she had seen, all that had happened.

"It looks... But it can't be. Not like this." Disbelief flooded the doctor's voice as he blinked twice at Wyatt's leg, then raised his eyes to stare at Abby.

She nodded slowly as Hannah slid behind her to hide from the doctor's appalled expression.

Connor's narrowed eyes darted between Abby and the doctor. "What is it, doc?"

Doc Whitman shook his head. "Well," he said as he bent over to examine the wound again. "It looks like he was bitten by a man, but it's too dark around the bite. And the skin is starting to rot. It's impossible. I would believe that of a snake bite, sure, but this is clearly not. There are no animals that I know of that can do this. It's already infected and just by the look of him... Well, it doesn't look good. How long ago was he attacked? If you'd brought him in right when it happened--"

Abby glanced at Eva. The girl's hands shook as she placed a bowl of steaming water on the table. Droplets splashed onto her fair skin, but she didn't even flinch. Her attention was completely on Wyatt. "We were eating dinner," Abby said.

The doctor's hand dropped to the table. "Dinner... just a few hours ago?"

Abby nodded as she fought against another bout of tears.

"No, that's completely impossible. This type of infection would take days to set in, at least, if a man could even do that to another man. It just makes no sense." He mumbled to himself for a few moments as he poked at the wound. "Give me some time to look him over and see what I can do. Eva, take care of the girls, please."

The terrified young nurse led Abby, Hannah, and Sheriff McClane from the room and shut the door behind her. Her voice was soft and monotone when she spoke, mere habit rather than true hospitality. "Would you like some tea? I'll refill the kettle." Without waiting for an answer, she wandered into the kitchen.

The others followed her. As the girls sank into chairs around the table, Connor leaned against the doorway. "Abby, what happened?"

He had his hat in one hand and his arms were crossed. His eyes bore into her. She shook her head. It was all too strange. How could she explain it? The face of the man who killed her father swam in front of her. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt. "I don't... It doesn't make sense. They were dead."

The sheriff straightened and raised an eyebrow. He hung his hat on a peg by the door and pulled the chair out from the end of the table. He swung it around in front of Abby and straddled it backward. "What do you mean 'they were dead'?"

Abby raised her eyes, but she didn't look at the sheriff. She looked at Hannah. Her younger sister's eyes were wide. Even though Hannah was nearly seventeen, she looked about five in the light from the flickering candles.

The sheriff caught her stare. "Eva, why don't you take Hannah upstairs and get her cleaned up and into a bed?"

The nurse hesitated for the briefest of moments before she scuttled over to the girl and gently took her by the arm. Hannah resisted until Abigail nodded. "It's all right. I'll be right here. Go get some sleep."

Hannah allowed herself to be led out of the room. Abby was silent until she heard their steps disappear up the stairs.

"We were eating supper," she began, not looking at the sheriff. She stared into the murky grayness outside the window. "The sun was nearly set. Maddy was there. She always comes home on Saturday." Her voice broke as she thought about her older sister, her best friend, dead eyes staring up at her from a slack face.