Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West)
Read Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) Online
Authors: Angela Scott
WANTED: DEAD OR UNDEAD
(The Zombie West Series – Book 1)
By Angela Scott
Copyright © 2012 Angela Scott
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Staci Perkins and Mallory
Rock
~~~~~~~~~~
Edited by Melissa Sawatsky and Lane Diamond
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them
fictitiously.
Dedication:
For
Diana,
For forcing me to
take Grand Canyon-like leaps, and
refusing
to let me do anything less.
Prologue – The
Night Knew No Difference
Chapter 5 –
The Makings of a Posse
Chapter 8 –
Miniature Rises and Valleys
Chapter 11 –
Trapped with a Madman
Chapter 13 –
Can a Woman Forget Her Suckling Child?
Chapter 23 –
Butterflies and Bats
Chapter 25 – Snowmen
and Swords
Difference
Elisabeth walked the path to the streambed with precise,
careful steps. The moon provided enough light to go by as she navigated the
familiar brush and rocks. She held a metal pail in one hand, and her father's
pistol, pointed toward the ground, in the other.
At the end of the path, she placed the gun on a small
boulder and knelt to dip the bucket into the stream. Frigid water trickled over
her fingers as she clung to the handle, waiting for it to fill. She struggled
to her feet on the muddy bank, weighed down by the heavy bucket, but she found
her footing and stood in the slippery mess.
"
Elisabeth!
"
She stopped moving and the bucket slapped against her thigh,
soaking her dress. Tortured sounds came from the direction of the cabin—screams
and cries intertwined—and wrapped their frozen fingers around her.
"
Elisabeth!
"
She threw the bucket down, grabbed the gun, and ran toward
the sound of her brothers' squeals.
Sharp rocks tore
at her bare feet as she leapt over fallen trunks, clutching the pistol in her
white-knuckled grasp
.
The deer carcass her father had hung in the barn could have
brought a mountain lion or wolves to the premises, but most likely, the smoke
from the chimney had attracted unwanted attention from the Natives in the area.
Attacks were common. The Smiths on the other side of the hill had been burned
out of their cabin just a few months before.
Elisabeth cleared the trees and scanned the grounds around
her home. Nothing—no Natives, no animals—only the swirl of smoke that escaped
the chimney and the yellow, flickering glow of firelight that illuminated the
windows. Silence blanketed the cabin and surrounding woods, which frightened
her more than the sound of her brothers' screams and cries. She stood, gun
raised, panting heavily as her fingers trembled on the trigger.
"Ma?" She took a hesitant step forward.
"Pa?"
No answer.
"Peter? William?"
She half expected her brothers to come running through the
open door and tackle her about the waist, but they didn't. Instead, she heard
the sound of a wooden chair being dragged across the floorboards. Furniture
tumbled. Dishes crashed. A shadow crossed in front of the window.
Elisabeth cocked the gun and pointed it toward the sky,
afraid of accidentally shooting her mother or brothers in a panic. She lifted
her foot and placed it on the bottom step.
"You a'right?" She softly placed one foot in front
of the other on the weather-beaten boards until she reached the landing.
"Ma?"
The door stood open a crack, but not enough to see inside.
As she stepped forward to push the door wide, a sticky wetness seeped between
her toes. Blood oozed over the threshold onto the porch and Elisabeth stood
squarely in the middle of it. She opened her mouth to scream, but clasped her
free hand over it and allowed only whimpers to escape through the spaces
between her fingers.
She plowed through the door and wielded the gun like the
sharpshooter her father had trained her to be. He would have been proud to
witness his daughter's steady hand wrapped around the Remington revolver, if he
weren't looking down the barrel of it instead. His cloudy eyes stared up at her
as he knelt over the dismembered, gutted body of her mother. No sound crossed
over Elisabeth's lips, though her mind exploded with terror and her knees
threatened to buckle.
She didn't doubt her pa's guilt for a second. Blood drenched
him, dripping from his hands, face, and mouth. He threw his head back and
grunted, displeased by the interruption. The inhuman sound forced her to take a
step back. That man was not her pa. He was hardly a man at all. He reminded her
of a wild animal in the forest, feasting on fallen prey. Her mother? Fallen
prey?
"Pa?" The word choked her. She couldn't breathe.
On crooked limbs, he worked his way to a crouching position, cocked his head to
the side, and pinned his gaze on her. He stood and dragged himself forward—one
step, then another.
"Pa, no!" Tears wet her cheeks. The man who had
hugged his family just hours earlier, who swung each of the boys around until
they fell laughing and dizzy on the ground, had vanished. He had called her
li'l girl, even though she was no longer little. The hideous monster that
slowly lugged itself toward her had replaced the man she knew and loved.
"Please, Pa, don't!"
He snapped his head from side to side and roared a guttural
response. Her mother's blood fell from his tongue and lips, splattering the
floor at his feet. He reached his arm forward, and Elisabeth didn't
hesitate—she wound her finger around the trigger and pulled.
The bullet ripped through his shoulder and his arm fell limp
at his side. If anything, the injury stunned him, but didn't alter his
progression. He continued his slow, agonizing path toward her. She fired again.
The bullet penetrated his right eye and went clear on through, lodging itself
in the wall behind him. His knees bowed and he wobbled briefly before
collapsing in a broken mess on the wooden floor.
She continued to hold the gun in her hands, but squeezed her
eyes shut.
This can't be happening. This can't be happening.
Her
shoulders shook as sobs ripped through her chest and heart. Now
she
turned to throw her head back and yell into the night, to release the pain and
fear that threatened to destroy her.
The sound of whimpering from the loft caused her eyes to fly
open. She'd forgotten about the boys.
"Peter! William!" She stepped over her father's
broken body and refused to look at her mother's remains as she moved past.
"It's okay," she called to them. They must be terrified, hiding in
the loft above her. "It's okay now. Everything's gonna be a'right. Come on
down."
"Beth?"
She released a sob from her constricted throat upon hearing
the sound of her brother's voice. "Peter!" She climbed up the bottom
rungs of the ladder. "It's okay now. No one's gonna hurt you."
He poked his blond head over the edge of the loft and peered
down at her. "I don't feel so good, Beth." Beads of sweat dotted his
brow as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. "Pa bit me."
Elisabeth climbed the remaining rungs to reach her brother.
He sat on his haunches, rocking in pain. He leaned to the side and retched dark
blood onto the floor.
"It hurts!" He removed his arms from around his
belly, exposing a gaping hole beneath his bloodied nightshirt.
She grabbed the closest thing she could find—his discarded
jacket—and balled it up before pressing it into his abdomen.
Why is this
happening? It doesn't make sense.
"It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be fine." She
looked around the loft, panicked. "Where's William?"
Peter shook his head and nodded toward the shadows.
"Willie's sick, too."
She crawled on her hands and knees toward the huddled figure
in the corner. "William, you okay? You hurt?" She held her hand out
toward her frightened brother. "I know you're scared, but it's a'right
now. It's a'right."
The ten-year-old boy lunged forward, leaving her mere
seconds to pull her hand back to escape his snapping jaws. He wore the same
crazed expression she'd seen on her pa's face.
She fell backwards and scooted away from him, but William
sprang forward again and gripped her ankle. He opened his mouth, ready to clamp
down, but she kicked at him with her other foot until he released his hold.
Once free, she pushed past Peter and climbed part way down the ladder before
jumping off and landing on the floor below.
"Peter!" she yelled up at him. "Jump down to
me! Come on! Jump!" The sick little boy, still pressing the increasingly
bloodied jacket to his stomach, launched himself over the side and Elisabeth
caught him.
"Don't look!" she told him, and Peter pushed his
face into her shoulder to avoid the gruesome scene of their parents' deaths.
She carried him out the door and ran toward the barn with
Peter wrapped firmly around her torso. He dug his fingers into her shoulders,
while his tiny body shook and grew hotter by the moment. His warm blood seeped
through her dress. She didn't have much time.
God, help me!
she silently
prayed.
I can't do this on my own
.
The town was ten miles away, and she would have to hitch up
the wagon in order to get her brother to help safely—balancing him on a horse
would be near impossible—but it would take too much precious time. Time she
didn't have.
"It's okay, Peter. Just hang in there."
He let out a low, throaty hum and she quickened her pace. If
she didn't hurry, she would lose him, too.
Elisabeth struggled to hold onto her brother while fumbling
with the wooden latch that held the barn door closed. As she shifted his weight
to her hip, his sharp baby teeth clamped down on her tender flesh and a searing
pain engulfed her shoulder. He shook his head like a dog refusing to release
its bone.
She cried out, begging him to stop. Agonizing pain radiated
down the length of her arm and her fingers splayed to the point of near
breaking. She grabbed the back of his head and tugged at his hair in an attempt
to pull him off, but his strength rivaled that of a full grown man.
She spun around and slammed his body against the barn door,
trying to knock him off with force. He clung to her with greater resolve and
tightened his fingers around her upper arms. When she slammed her brother's
body into the barn door for a second time, it splintered and flew open, but the
boy seemed unaffected. She wound her left hand around Peter's twisted face,
pushed her fingers into his eye sockets, and began to pry him off her. He
screamed out briefly, but his vice-like jaws clamped onto her shoulder once
more and she lost all feeling in her arm.
She stumbled into the barn, searching for anything she could
use to strike him. A burning pain flowed through her veins and stiffened her
joints and muscles, shortening her steps. Her eyes began to blur, and she
blinked in an effort to restore her vision. Her mouth dried up, as though her
body was reabsorbing itself, and her stomach growled and rolled.
Without warning, Peter's head snapped upright. He cried out
as his body went rigid, and his grip on her arm slackened. He slipped from her
body and sunk to the earth at her feet, crying as his arms and legs jutted out
and retracted.
She couldn't see him clearly, but heard everything—his
moans, his cries, the sound of him choking to death. She stumbled backward,
clutching her useless arm to ease her own pain. When her brother lay still,
Elisabeth fell to her knees and looked heavenward.
Crickets chirped in rhythm and an owl hooted its warning off
in the distance. The night knew no difference.