Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) (13 page)

The sun dipped beyond the horizon and cast a golden hue over
everything. Trace looked forward to a quiet evening, especially after spending
all afternoon scouting out the place. He'd found plenty of food, clothing,
weapons, and ammunition to see them through the winter months, as long as they
were smart about it. They couldn't have found a better setup than this one.

Even Fisher had come out of his gloomy shell. He continued
in silence, but his eyes seemed less sorrowful than before. They even sparkled
a little when Trace gave him permission to climb the lookout towers, though
with the specific order to be careful. That was all Trace needed—another person
to mend—but he couldn't deny the boy some fun.

Trace and Wen managed to help the old man to his feet and
bring him outside for some fresh air. They propped him up in a chair and set up
a little table at his side with a mug of black coffee and a plate of food. He'd
been in his room for most of the morning, and who knew how long before that. A
change of scenery might do him some good. Trace also wanted the old man, who
still could not talk, to know they were good people and meant him no harm.
There was no better way to prove that than to let the old man see them in
action.

Trace had just finished watering the animals, when someone
began to pull at his sleeve. Fisher had a mighty fine hold on his arm and
wasn't in any hurry to let go.

"What's goin' on, boy? Everything a'right?"

Fisher just stared up at him, and said nothing.

"You hurt?"

The boy blinked.

Trace squatted to Fisher's level and placed his hands on the
boy's shoulders. "You're gonna have to help me out here, son. I know you
need something, but unless you tell me, I won't know what it is."

Fisher raised his arm and pointed toward the tower he'd been
playing in.

Trace glanced from the tower to the boy. "Did you see
something? Is that it?"

Fisher lowered his arm, but still said nothing. Damn, Trace
wished the kid would just speak. It'd make everything a hell of a lot easier.

"Wen!" Trace hollered, standing once again.
"I think Fisher saw something!"

Without another word, he grabbed his rifle and scaled the
ladder to the west tower. Wen took the east. They looked over the desert plain,
each temporarily at a loss for words at what they saw heading their way.

"Oh hell," Trace whispered.

Bearing down on them from the south, a swarm of decrepit
zombies marched toward the fort—more than he'd ever seen in one place before.
What worried him most, however, was that mere yards in front of the undead
army, someone tried to outrun them.

The man staggered, fell, regained his footing and started
running once more, but only after losing some of his lead.

"What do we do?" Wen called from the adjacent
tower.

"What we have to!" Trace raised his rifle and
fired into the crowd, killing the closest walker, which gave the person below
more of an advantage. "Go to the west gate," he yelled to Wen.
"Let him in!"

Wen scrambled down from his lookout, and Trace fired again,
took down another zombie, and quickly reloaded. There were just too many of
them, and they all headed in the direction of the fort. So much for the quiet
evening he'd hoped for.

Trace aimed for the fastest walkers and took out two more,
blasting through each skull with one highly skilled shot apiece. Four bullets.
Four dead zombies.

"Go to the west side!" he yelled to the poor sap
who tried to outrun the swarm. The fellow nodded, turned, and staggered off in
that direction.

Maybe it was a mistake to let this person in, but leaving
him outside the fort walls to be devoured by a mass of flesh eaters didn't sit
well with Trace. He skimmed down the ladder and got to the base just as Wen
yanked the man through the small opening. Together, all three of them pushed
the gates closed and positioned the heavy crossbeam in place.

They stepped back, waited and watched. Everyone knew it was
coming, including the old man and the little boy. They glanced from one gate to
the other and listened, steeling themselves for the inevitable.

A silent minute passed. Then another.

Then the howls, the clawing of nails on wood, the pushing
and pounding on the heavy gates, the smell of death. Lasso barked and ran
around the courtyard in search of a way to get at them, but the guard dog only
managed to add to the intolerable level of noise vibrating off the stone walls.
Trace had to give him some credit, though.

The rest of them stood still and silent, as they watched the
gates and prayed they would hold steady. They had plenty of supplies to see
them through for a while, but would have to carefully ration their food, since
leaving the fort was no longer an option. Not any time soon, anyway.

Fisher slipped his hand into Trace's, and he pulled the boy
to his side. "It's okay, they can't get in. We're safe." The boy
needed to believe nothing could get to him, even if it wasn't true.

"Should we shoot 'em? Kill as many as we can?" Wen
looked to Trace for guidance.

"No, we'd just be wasting bullets."

"So what, then?"

Trace let his gaze fall on the stranger who stood silently
before them. "I think we ask our foolish friend here how he got mixed up
with the undead like that, and why he led them right to us."

The stranger just looked at the ground.

"Wait a minute." Trace stepped back and pushed
Fisher behind him. "You sure as hell better not be bit."

Wen stepped back too. He raised his gun and trained it on
the stranger's temple.

"Well, are ya?" Trace asked.

The stranger shook his head, but still refused to look up.
"No, I'm not bit. I promise."

Both Wen and Trace took another step backwards, not out of
fear or worry, but due to utter disbelief. The high-pitched voice with soft
edges indicated that the stranger wasn't a man.

"Holy Moses," Wen said. "He's a girl!"

She looked up then, and her dark eyes darted from one man to
the other. "This is my fort." She pointed to the old man still
sitting in his chair. "If he could talk, he'd tell ya that's the
truth."

Trace shifted his attention to the old man. "That so?"

The old guy nodded and started in again with the hand signs,
pressing his closed fists to his heart. Trace wondered what it all meant.

"So this is your fort?"

The girl nodded.

"Then why in the world would you leave it?" Trace
asked. "A stone in the door seems rather risky. We're pretty decent folk,
but you could have invited in some really rotten types who would've killed you
both and taken everything you had."

"I know." She looked back down at the ground.
"But I had no choice. My father needed a few things."

"Your father?" Wen looked from one to the other.
"I don't see the resemblance."

Trace threw him a not-so-subtle glance to silence him.
"Well, it looks like we're all here together now. So we have two options.
The first is that we find a way to get along peacefully and help each
other." Trace pointed to the old man. "As you can see, we've been
good to him and had every intention of continuing to do so, since we thought he
might have been abandoned—"

"I didn't abandon him!" the girl snapped.

Trace lifted his hand to calm her. "I see that now. Either
we can all get along, or we can choose to go with option number two."

She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to
the side. "Which is?"

"Well, I was honestly hoping we'd just go with option
number one. Option number two could get rather complicated. Besides, I don't
think any of us want to reopen those gates, and that would be a big part of
selecting option number two."

She slipped the pack from her shoulders and allowed it drop
in the dirt. Then she took her time removing her gloves and hat. Jet-black
hair, loosely braided, fell over her left shoulder. "Option number one it
is, then." She took in Fisher, who peered at her from behind Trace's back.
"How old are you?"

The boy said nothing.

"He's not much of a talker," Trace answered for
him. "He's a shy one."

The girl smiled. "My father's not much of a talker
either."

Trace nodded. "We've noticed."

"So, it's just the three of you then?"

Trace shook his head. Her eyes widened and she glanced
around, possibly fearing an ambush. He couldn't blame her. A fort full of
lonely men and one lone girl could be her undoing.

"There are a total of five in our party. Myself, my
friend Wen here, and my boy Fisher. We also have a woman and a young girl with
us."

The girl eyed him suspiciously. "They hiding or
something?"

"I guess you could say that."

Red's and Rivers' lives hung in the balance, and Trace
wasn't sure he could trust her with such delicate information quite yet. This
girl, with her sudden appearance, was a wild card, and who knew exactly how
that card would fall.

The noise outside the gates grew louder and more intense as
the relentless zombies fought to get in. Even though they couldn't break down
the doors or scale the enormous walls, the threatening sounds weren't any less
frightening.

Fisher, in the midst of the heightened insanity, wet his
trousers. A large spot formed and grew on his tan pants, and the child buried
his face against Trace's hip. The kid had been through more than his fair share
of zombie mayhem. It just didn't seem right.

Trace lifted the boy into his arms, wet pants and all, and
looked from Wen to the girl. "You two make sure there's no possible way
any of the living dead can get inside. Maybe reinforce the gates somehow? I'm
gonna get Fisher cleaned up and check on the girls."

Wen nodded, then walked over and placed his hand on Fisher's
back. "They can make all the noise they want, but ain't nothing gettin'
in. I promise you that."

He tousled the boy's hair, but over the boy's head, he and
Trace exchanged a meaningful glance. Even the girl swallowed hard, and Trace
saw the worry in her eyes.

They were in a heap-load of trouble, no doubt about it.

***

"It's okay, Fisher." Trace helped the boy slip out
of his soiled pants. "Accidents happen. Nothin' to be ashamed about."

Kids were a whole different breed—real short, for one thing,
and they made no sense, for the most part. Nonetheless, Trace adapted to the
new role he'd been forced into. He actually cared for the boy, and his sister
too.

Fisher stood naked, clasping his hands over his miniature
parts, while Trace filled the metal tub with one more steaming pot of water. He
dipped his fingers into the tub to make sure the temperature was right.

"That should do it. Climb on in."

Fisher just looked at him with wide eyes and continued to
shiver.

"Come on now, you don't wanna go around smelling like
piss, do ya?"

Still, the boy made no effort.

Trace sighed and squatted before him. "I wish you'd
just tell me what you're thinking, I really do. But since you won't, I want you
to know that it's okay to be scared. Hell, I'm a little scared myself. I also
wish I could tell you there is no such thing as monsters, but we both know that
ain't true—we've seen 'em. But Fisher, we're gonna be okay."

Trace shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I
don't know how I know that, I just do. I'm gonna do everything in my power to
keep us all safe—you, me, Red, your sister, even Wen and the new people. I
ain't gonna let anything happen to any of us."

Fisher didn't say anything, but he slowly climbed over the
edge of the wash tub and settled himself into the water. His big, dark eyes
remained locked on his surrogate father.

Trace nodded, and without another word, he knelt next to the
tub and poured water over the boy's head.

"They're beautiful." Red's mother pressed the
fragrant wildflowers to her nose and breathed in. "Just perfect."

Seeing her mother so happy brought a smile to her face.
Her
mother.

Red hadn't seen her in so long, and relished the time she
could spend with her. She continued to hand her the flowers, one after another
in quick succession, until her mother's arms overflowed. Each flower
represented one more moment with her mother, an extension of time, so she kept
picking and adding to the bunch.

She breathed in honeysuckle and Virginia bluebells—so sweet
and potent—and brushed her mother's arm to feel the warmth of her skin, alive
beneath her fingertips. The birds chirped in the trees, the breeze played
through her hair, and the sun kissed her face. Her mother's sing-song voice and
the sound of her laughter—it all felt so real.

"Let's go home." Red reached out to take her
mother's hand, but her ma flitted away, and all she grabbed was air.

"Why the rush, sweet pea? Aren't you having fun?"

"I want to see pa and the boys." Red handed her
mother another freshly plucked flower. "Please?"

Her mother started down the hillside and flowers fell from
her arms as her hips sashayed from side to side. Red followed behind and walked
over the discarded blooms.

In the distance, smoke curled out of the fireplace and her
younger brothers chased one another in a game of tag. The sound of an axe
splitting logs echoed across the field, and she watched her father raise the
axe once again.

Red couldn't see them clearly, and the more she rubbed her
eyes to adjust the focus, the worse it got, until everything blurred and
smeared together.

Her mother stopped moving. The rest of the flowers fell from
her arms, and the wind picked them up and blew them randomly about.

"Ma?" Red's chest tightened.
Please, not again
.
I smelled the flowers! I smelled them!

Her mother dropped onto all fours, her neck cracking as her
head twisted around to glare at her from over the top of her shoulders. Her
tongue slithered around the edges of her lips, licking at the air, while her
eyes sunk into her skull and became wild with hunger.

Not again!

Her father and brothers closed the distance, and their moans
became an evil chorus that grew louder and louder.

Her mother lunged forward, but Red dove to the right and
avoided her mangled mouth. She turned and tripped over her feet, but quickly
gathered herself and climbed the hillside on all fours.
I can't do this! Not
again!

The hill gave way and flattened as she climbed, the dirt
crumbling in her hands. No matter how fast or high she climbed, it always ended
up the same. She could never get away. Her mother snaked her hand forward and
latched onto one of Red's ankles. Her father grabbed onto the other, and
together they dragged her down the hill as she clawed at the ground. Her entire
family pounced, restricting her movement by pinning her beneath their weight.
They devoured her—first her arms, then her legs, and finally opening her
stomach to remove her innards.

Through the whole process, Red felt everything.

***

Red opened her eyes, and nothing looked familiar. The bed.
The room. None of it made sense. With great labor and pain, she turned her head
to the side, playing along with the current illusion. Moonlight splashed
through the tiny four-paned window and bathed the room in a white effervescent
glow. A full moon. She couldn't see it, but no matter.

Her arms and legs ached, and when she reached up to remove
the blankets that covered her, a sharp pain radiated through her entire body,
nearly causing her to vomit. Her body went rigid and struggled to follow her
commands, but she pushed through it and forced herself into a sitting position.

She grasped her head, pinched her eyes closed, and bit her
lip so hard it drew blood. She'd never hurt this bad before. It had to be real.

If so, she would kill Wen for failing to keep his promise to
her. And when she finished with him, she'd move on to Trace, because it was
probably his fault that Wen hadn't followed through. She shouldn't be alive,
and they were to blame.

Red planted her bare feet on the wooden floorboards and
tried to stand, but her useless legs sent her sprawling to the ground. She
tried to brace herself for the fall, but her weedy arms gave way and her head
slammed against the side table, which sent the water pitcher toppling from its
stand as well. Tiny lights skipped across her vision.

This all
felt
very
real, but when the door
opened and a dark-haired girl stood in the frame, cast aglow in white light,
Red wasn't so sure anymore. This room, this person—nothing was familiar.

"Oh, my goodness! Here, let me help you." The girl
knelt, slipped her hands under Red's arms, and lifted her back onto the bed.

"There. Until your legs are ready to hold your weight,
you're gonna need help getting around."

The dark-haired beauty smiled, and Red wondered if she was
some sort of angel, because someone that beautiful couldn't possibly be human.
"The boys are gonna be so happy to know you're finally awake."

The boys?
Wen and Cowboy? Or was she referring to her
brothers? Was she really awake?

"Are you real?" Red's tongue and lips struggled to
form words. It actually hurt to speak.

The girl nodded. "I feel real."

Her answer didn't help Red.

"Are you hungry?"

"Maybe." If eating tortured her as much as
speaking, Red preferred to skip it all together.

"Stay there. I'll be right back." The girl
disappeared, leaving Red on her own to decipher the validity of her situation.
Where
in the hell am I, and who is that girl?

A sticky wetness oozed down her back, and she reached behind
to investigate. She brought her hand back in front and was surprised to find a
dark, pasty substance coating her fingertips. Odd. She raised it to her nose,
anticipating the smell of blood, but instead it smelled sweet—thyme, sage,
honey, lavender, aloe. Very,
very
odd.

The more she experienced, the less real it felt. This must
be another dream to add to the many.

A dark figure slid to a forceful stop in front of the door,
clutching the frame for support in his breathless state. "You're
awake!"

He entered the moonlit room and Red's heart lifted. Cowboy,
wearing nothing but long johns, his dark hair tousled in a wild mess. He'd
never infiltrated her dreams before now, so she didn't know what to make of it.
She couldn't imagine why she'd dream of a man in his underwear, but her dreams
had been anything but logical.

He knelt before her and cupped her face in his large hands.
"How you feeling?"

"I hurt." Everything ached, all the way to the
marrow in her bones. She wanted to tell him not to touch her, but his hands
felt remarkably warm and soft on her face.

"But you're alive. You're awake and alive, and that's
all that matters." His eyes glistened in the moonlight that highlighted
the goofy grin on his face. He seemed so happy.

Now, if only she understood why she didn't feel the same.
"My back's all sticky."

"That would be my doing," the dark-haired girl
said. She stood in the doorway balancing a tray in her hands. "It's
supposed to draw out the poison and ease the pain. I hope it helped."

Red couldn't tell if her back felt any better than the rest
of her body.

"You thirsty?" the girl asked.

Red nodded, and the girl handed a tin cup to Cowboy, who
then held it gently to Red's lips.

The water should have tasted cool and delicious, but it only
intensified her dehydration as it burned down her throat. She gagged and pulled
away, spilling the liquid down her neck.

"Whoa." Cowboy caressed her arm. "Take it
easy. Not too fast now."

They tried again, but a smaller sip didn't garnish a better
result. Red didn't understand why the water burned instead of quenched.

"Okay." Cowboy set the cup to the side.
"Small sips for now."

Red reached forward and placed the palm of her hand against
his cheek. "You guys aren't gonna try to eat me, are ya?"

Cowboy laughed, and the girl put a hand over her mouth to
stifle her own.

"No," Cowboy said. "I'm a carnivore, not a
cannibal."

She would have wrapped her arms around his neck, but the
thought of doing so, and the pain it would cause, was more than she could bear.
Her hand against his face would have to do.

***

Three weeks. Red couldn't believe it. A zombie attack had
never rendered her unconscious for so long. Four days at the most.
But three
weeks?
She shouldn't have survived. Yet, she did.

The worst part wasn't that her body groaned and complained
whenever she moved, but rather trying to catch up on everything she missed
while she was "away." The fort. How the kids had fared. The new
people. She'd lost so much time, and felt like a strange interloper in the
midst of a group of people who had managed quite well without her.

Red sat on the edge of the bed with her arms propped up on
either side of the mattress, to help maintain balance. She wanted to just dive
back into life, but her muscles and bones hadn't quite caught up with her mind.
She'd been awake for two full days now, but she'd yet to leave the confines of
her room.

Cowboy had offered to carry her outside so she could take in
some fresh air, but she'd turned him down. The thought of his touch sent spasms
of pain shooting down her spine. No, when she left her room, it would be on her
own accord. So far, it was a very slow process.

"How're you feeling?" Wen stood in the open
doorway and fidgeted with the hat in his hands.

She smiled, aware that he was worried about their friendship
and his broken promise to her.

"I'm feeling a little better." Perhaps there was
some truth to that. She hoped so, anyway.

Wen nodded. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"No. I think I'm fine."

He nodded again, still fidgeting. "Caroline's working
up another concoction for your back. I just saw her in the kitchen."

Caroline
. Another name to add to the ever-growing
list of names she'd rather not know. It wasn't that she didn't like the
dark-haired girl, who'd been nothing but kind to her. She just didn't need
another person to worry about.

Red had yet to meet Caroline's father, Ira, but she'd heard
a lot about the silent, grandfatherly figure. From what Cowboy told her, Ira
had taken quite a shine to Fisher, and vice versa. Apparently, they spent hours
together in silence, enjoying one another's company.

Caroline brushed past Wen as she entered Red's room,
carrying her familiar bowl of herbs and rags. Red saw a flirtatious smile pass
between the two, and wondered if Caroline had succumbed to Wen's charms. The
next time she caught him alone, she'd have to ask.

"Let me know if you need anything," Wen said.
"Anything at all."

Red smiled again. "Thanks, I will."

When he turned to leave, Caroline shut the door to give Red
some privacy. She helped to lower the gown from Red's shoulders, and peeled
back the dressing that covered her entire back.

Red's breath caught in her lungs each time Caroline dipped
the rags in the bowl of clear water and gently dabbed at her raw skin.

"It's looking better. If you'd seen it before, you'd be
amazed at the difference."

"Show me. I want to see." She could imagine it
well enough—scars, torn flesh, and ragged bumps. It was different than the old
bites that had healed-over on her legs and arms. These were worse. Although she
didn't want to see, she must.

Caroline stopped her hand in midair. "Are you
sure?"

No, I'm terrified
. Red nodded.

Caroline positioned the dressing mirror in front of Red, and
then carefully helped her to her feet. Red could stand on her own now, whereas
the day before she couldn't, so yes, she was getting better. Small progress,
but progress nonetheless.

With the gown covering her breasts, she turned around and
peered over her shoulder at the image in the mirror. Nothing she'd imagined could
have prepared her for the sight.

Chunks of flesh torn from her frame made it impossible for
the miniature canyons to heal. Dozens of teeth marks riddled her back and
shoulders—not even an inch left spared. Very little of the top layer of skin
remained, and what did appeared all but transparent, bluish and bruised.

A fire wouldn't have been any less damaging.

She couldn't breathe. Tears burned her eyes as she stared at
her grotesque body, at the hideous monster she'd become—less like a human
being, more like the undead creatures. She pushed against the mirror and its
horrific reflection, tipping it backward on its legs. It fell and shattered
into pieces across the floor before Caroline could catch it.

Red crumpled to the ground amid the shards and buried her
face in her shaking hands. She didn't want to live like this.

"Red—"

"Get out!" The last thing she wanted to see right
now was the girl and her perfect, unbitten body. "Get out of here!"

Caroline stumbled backward and made for the door, only to
bump into Cowboy's chest. "What's going—?"

Red swung her head around on her shoulders and the bones in
her neck cracked, which caused her to remember her dream and the image of her
mother turning. She glared at Cowboy and Caroline from her crouched position.
Shards of glass bit into the flesh of her knees, but she felt none of it.

"Get out! Get out!" she screamed. "Get
out!"

"Red, please—" Cowboy took a step toward her and
reached out his hand.

She lunged forward and clamped her teeth down on the tender
flesh between his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to provoke him.
Pull
your gun, pull your gun, pull your gun!