Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) (11 page)

"The weather's gonna turn soon," Wen said.
"We need to figure out which direction to head, and what we're gonna do
for supplies and shelter to see us through."

Trace nodded agreement. "I figure we have maybe five or
six weeks tops until the snow starts falling. We could head south to avoid the
weather, but most likely everyone else has the same idea. And where there're
people, we're bound to find the diseased. It might be better to head north, but
then we face the colder weather coming on us even faster."

Red rolled her shoulders forward and hung her head low as if
giving up, which scared him. That was the last thing he needed her to do.

 Wen looked across the terrain. "A lot of people have
picked up and headed west, leaving their homes and property behind. Maybe we
should head northeast towards Wyoming or Montana and see what we come across.
It would be easier to find shelter than to build something. We just don't have
enough time for that."

Trace turned to Red. "What do you think?" Of the
three of them, she was the smartest by far—they needed her input to help set
the course. But she just shook her head.

Trace released his breath in resignation. "I, for one,
think we need to cut back the way we came and head north. We're taking the risk
of not finding shelter before the weather turns, but I still think we need to
try. We need to avoid as many people as we can—especially John Gatherum and
other people like him."

Wen nodded. "We should probably load up on supplies at
the next available town. We can avoid the plague, but trying to outlast the
winter just might be the thing to kill us."

Trace and Wen met each other's gaze, obviously concerned
about the same things. Red had checked herself out of the conversation, leaving
him and Wen to decide.

"I guess all we can do is take it one day at a
time," Trace said. "And hope for the best."

Trace watched Red for signs of a reaction, or some indication
that she agreed they were making the right choices, but she simply pulled her
knees up to her chest, placed her chin on top, and stared into the distance,
absorbed in her own thoughts. He wished he could help her, but didn't know
where to begin. His words of assurance made little difference, and she'd work
through it on her own and return to her confident, bossy self in no time. Until
then, he and Wen would have to make the tough decisions for all of them.

"We have a few more hours of light." He rose to
his feet and brushed off his pants. "I suggest we make the most of
'em."

***

The town resembled a few others they'd come across—barriers
and fences surrounded the outskirts, and men with guns stood guard.

"Wen and I will go into town and check things out. We
need supplies and I can't carry it all myself." Trace looked at Red and
the kids. "I think y'all should stay here. Keep the fire low, stay
together."

They'd found a small cave for shelter in the rocky
mountainside, which protected them from the rain the previous night. Without
it, they would have been soaked to the bone and freezing. They were lucky to
have come across the alcove.
Ah, there it is again. Luck.

Trace watched Red. She didn't look at him, but nodded her
head in agreement. He didn't feel comfortable leaving them alone, especially
with Red behaving in such a peculiar manner, but he couldn't think of any other
way. If Wen stayed behind, Trace would be more vulnerable should something
happen in town. Even if nothing happened, he'd struggle to carry all the
supplies they needed back to the campsite. A better option would be to leave
Wen with the kids and have Red come with him, but since the last town they
visited had proved dangerous for her, he didn't want to risk it again.

"We'll return as soon as we can—an hour or two,
tops."

She nodded. "We have no other choice. Go, but be quick.
Please."

Tears began to build behind her bravado. She bit her lip and
turned her eyes from him. Separating was dangerous business, since it could
very well become permanent.

He knelt beside her. "I'll be back. That's a
promise."

"You know what I think about promises."

"I
will
be back." He cupped her face and
pressed his forehead to hers. "I don't know what's going on with you, but
everything's gonna be okay—I'll make sure of it."

She didn't say anything.

"Come on, Wen. The sooner we go, the quicker we can get
back here and be on our way." He patted the dog on the head as he walked
by. "Keep 'em safe until we get back, boy."

***

The townspeople bartered for goods by shouting over the top
of each other, shoving their competitors when the negotiation didn't work in
their favor.

They were in a heap of trouble, with plenty of money but
nothing of worth to barter; everything they owned, they needed.

No women or children milled around the crowd gathered
outside the old General Store, just a bunch of burly men who looked like they'd
shoot someone over a measly bag of flour.

"Sure glad we left Red and the kids behind," Wen
said, pulling his hat down a little more.

Trace nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

Along with the lack of women and children, Trace noticed the
run-down saloon and hotel, its windows and doors boarded up, looking as though
they'd been that way for quite some time. The town had obviously devolved into
a place to gather supplies and move on. The odds that they would get everything
they'd hoped for seemed slim.

Both men tied their horses to the post and stood at the back
of the crowd. The shopkeeper lifted his hands and told the men to give him some
breathing room, his frustration clearly growing with the mob of edgy, needy
men.

"Come on, a'ready!" one man yelled. "We ain't
got all day!"

"A'right. A'right." The shopkeeper held up a bolt
of cloth. "Whaddya blokes have ta offer?"

"I gots a bottle of rum!" someone called from the
back.

"I'll give you some 'coon skins. Two of 'em!" A
man in front held up the furs.

"What do we do?" Wen whispered to Trace.

"I'm not sure." Trace shook his head. "If we
can't get what we need here, I don't know how we're gonna make it. Let's see if
my money's any good. If not, we move on regardless." Trace leaned his arm
on Wen's shoulder. "If we get separated for any reason, head back to Red.
We'll meet there, okay?"

Wen nodded.

"Take this." Trace pressed a small bag of coins
and bills into Wen's hand. "Go to the blacksmith's shop and see if we can
get a deal on a wagon, or if they know of someone who wants to get rid of one.
I think we're gonna need it."

"We should have taken one from the wagon train where we
first met." Wen smiled. "There were at least a dozen there for
free."

"Well, a lot has changed since then. See if you can get
something small and light, so we can run with it if we need to."

Wen nodded and headed down the street.

The crowd pressed down on the shopkeeper and continued to
yell over top of one another. Trace knew he wouldn't be able to get much, and
kept one hand on his gun, just in case. It was that kind of crowd.

He eyed the dilapidated town and its surroundings, wondering
where the sheriff was. Surely the town had someone in a position of authority
to maintain order.

The shop owner yelled, "I have cornmeal and tobacco!
Whatcha got to offer?"

The crowd pushed forward. They carried Trace along with it,
wedging him between two rather large farmers, each with their own distinct
smell of recently toiled earth and body odor. Men yelled out offers in an
attempt to outbid the next guy. Determined to get that cornmeal, Trace steeled
himself against the men who pushed and swore at one another. So far, the
madness only consisted of verbal abuse and shoving, so he decided to take a
gamble that no weapons would be drawn.

"Twenty dollars!" Trace yelled, hoping his money
still carried some worth.

"Fifty!" someone else shouted.

"Hundred!" he countered.

Several men turned to look in his direction, and Trace
wondered if he'd done the right thing by bidding that high. It was foolish to
let them know he held that kind of money.

"To the man in the back!" The shopkeeper called
over everyone, and Trace received an elbow to the ribs from the man to his
right. Trace just took the cornmeal and tobacco, pressed them to his chest, and
fought his way through the crowd. He wanted out of there.

"I have two blankets, now. What'll ya give me?"

Trace needed those blankets, but he decided to shut his trap
and let someone else have them. Good thing, too. One man bickered with another
over the value of the blankets, insisting a crippled old mule was worth more
than a jug of rum. The man with the rum drew his pistol and shot the owner of
the mule in the head. This silenced the crowd for a moment, but no one did
anything to rectify the situation, so they went right back to bartering and
left the dead man lying where he fell.

An old man placed his wrinkled hand on Trace's arm. "I could
really use that tobacco, son. If you're willin'."

"What do you have in exchange?"

"Come." The man dragged Trace away from the crowd
and down a side street. "No one takes me seriously anymore. They figure if
you got a gray head of hair, you ain't much worth listenin' to."

The isolated alley sat tucked between two buildings, and
Trace looked back over his shoulder and considered returning to the main road.
The crowd of frantic men fighting over supplies might have actually been safer
than following a stranger down a deserted road. The old man appeared innocent
enough, but so had the petite woman who had tried to feed him to her undead
baby. He looked the old man over, made a mental note of his weapons, and
scanned his surroundings for a possible ambush.

"Here we are." The old man lifted his shaky hand
and removed a tarp from over the top of a wagon. "Take what you want. It's
no use to me anyhow."

Crates and barrels of various sizes littered the flat bed of
the wagon. Some were busted open with the contents spoiled, but a great deal of
useful supplies remained. If the wagon itself didn't have a broken axle, Trace
would've made an offer on that as well.

"How is it that you haven't been looted?" With a
town full of wild, desperate men, he couldn't understand why they hadn't robbed
this old guy of his supplies, however meager they were.

"Like I said, no one takes me seriously."

Trace nodded. Although the old man seemed genuine, he
glanced around once more. "Well, I do. I could definitely use what you
have."

"Take it all." The man waved his hand over it.
"I'm not going anywhere. I thought I'd try to head west, but I probably
wouldn't make it. Besides, there's nothin' there for me no how." He took a
jug from the back. "This one isn't for sale. I plan to smoke and drink
myself into a state of bliss."

Trace wondered if he should offer to bring the old man along
with their band of misfits, but thought against it. He hardly knew how to take
care of the people he was already responsible for, and he had to be especially
careful not to let anyone near Red and Rivers. He handed the tobacco to the old
man and threw the tarp back over the wagon.

"I appreciate this." Trace shook the old man's
hand, deciding to take him at his word. "I have a woman and two kids who
will be mighty grateful." Trace paused, stunned by his own words.
A
woman and two kids.

The old man dug into the tobacco, took a pinch, and placed
it in the side of his mouth. "You're lucky to have a family to cling to in
times like these. What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes."

Lucky.
There was that word again.

Trace made his way back to the center of town in search of
Wen. He needed to find him quickly; couldn't leave the old man and the wagon of
supplies unattended any longer than necessary. Most of the rowdy men still
gathered in front of the General Store, so he headed in the opposite direction,
toward the smith shop at the far end of town. For the most part, he kept his
eyes forward and his ears wide open.

A weathered poster on the door of the boarded-up saloon
flapped in the breeze and caught his attention. He glanced at it briefly and
continued on his way. Then it hit him.

He turned around and slowly approached the saloon.

Several notices were nailed to the door, but one in
particular stood out. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching him,
yanked the flyer off the door, and shoved it inside his jacket.

***

The kids drew pictures of themselves and the dog on the cave
walls, with a rock that left white markings. Red loved Fisher's depiction of
Trace and Wen—stick men with cowboy hats and guns as big as their heads. They
drew a picture of everyone, even Red, although she had no idea why Rivers chose
to depict her in a dress. She hadn't worn a dress in years, but she didn't say
anything. It felt nice just to be included in the mural.

Trace and Wen had been gone for hours now, and the coloring
no longer held the kids' attention. They'd covered every inch of space on the
cave wall.

"You want me to tell you another story?" Red
handed both kids another piece of dried meat to tide them over until supper.
"Or play tic-tac-toe?"

Rivers slumped forward and rested her arms on her knees.
"When're they coming back?"

"Yeah," Fisher piped in. "I'm bored."

"Soon."

The sun disappeared from the mouth of their shelter. The men
had been gone far longer than expected. They should have been back for lunch,
but she and the kids ended up sharing their portion. Now it was going on
dinnertime and they still hadn't returned.

Red turned away from the kids and closed her eyes for a
moment. If they didn't return by morning, she'd have to take the kids and move
on. The men would do the same if the circumstances were reversed.