Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) (9 page)

Straw. Dirt floor. Cow.

Tiny points of light tiptoed across Red's vision. She
blinked a few times in an attempt to focus her eyes, but the haziness
persisted. The back of her head throbbed and she searched for the source of the
pain, wincing when she touched a goose egg-sized knot at the base of her skull.

She pulled her hand away and cringed at the sight of thick
blood coating her fingertips.

What in the world?

She pushed herself into a sitting position. A sharp pain
raced across her forehead and down her neck and a wave of vertigo threatened to
topple her over once more. A ringing sound like a continual high pitched
whistle came from inside her eardrums. Not good. She blinked a few more times.

The cabin. The mother. The broken wagon that didn't exist.
The metal shovel to the back of the head. She hadn't seen it coming.

Red felt she deserved the knock to the head, if for no other
reason than to remind her that she needed to be more careful and trust no one.
She'd fallen for an illusion before, and this time she should've known better.

She glanced around and sized up her situation—a wooden barn,
closed door, farming equipment, and Wen sprawled out on the dirt beside her,
face down and unconscious.

Wen!

She crawled toward him on her hands and knees, spurred
forward by the sight of her motionless friend. He bled from the back of his
head as well, but his lump appeared more ominous than her own. She didn't want
to turn him over onto his wound, but she needed to know if he was alive. Red
placed her hand near his mouth and felt warm breath pass through his lips.

Relieved, she let out her own, and tried to rouse him.
"Wen, please wake up."

He lay still.

She tried to make sense of what had happened. That
diminutive woman couldn't have taken them both down without a fight, but aside
from the contusion on the back of her head, she was perfectly fine. Wen
appeared the same—no cuts, no bruises, just the ominous, blood-oozing knot that
had sent him into oblivion.

The outhouse!

As they'd walked toward the barn, the woman asked Wen to
check out the roof of the outhouse, which needed to be patched. She'd asked him
to take a look at it and see if it was fixable. Of course, Wen quickly obliged.

The woman must have nailed Red while Wen was out back, and
then waited for Wen to return, to take him by surprise as well. Had they been
together, it wouldn't have happened. A pretty, petite widow with two kids
didn't seem like much of a threat. Everything about the woman, the barn, and
the kids just didn't add up. What did she want with them? And where was Cowboy?
Besides the family cow, she and Wen were alone in the barn. Either he would
come looking for them, or....

Red refused to consider that possibility.

"Wen." She tried again to wake him. "Come on,
Wen, open your eyes." He moaned a response, but his eyes remained closed.

Her guns
.

She reached for them, but found her holsters empty. Even the
pistol she kept strapped to her thigh was gone. She searched around Wen and
found his guns missing as well. The mother had rendered them helpless.

She looked around the barn. There were no windows—the only
way out was through a hinged door at the front. She struggled to her feet,
limped over to the door, and pushed against it. Locked, of course. The mother
wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of bashing them over the head to simply
leave the door unbarred.

Red slammed her shoulder into the door, but the wooden bar
held strong. She looked around the barn, breathing hard from her efforts. There
had to be a way out—something she'd missed, something she could use. With one
hand on the back of her head, she ambled around in search of anything that
might help.

The farm equipment—a plow and a harrow—were useless, much
too big for her to maneuver without a horse. Even then, what would she do? Use
the horse to ram the sides of the barn? There had to be something else.

She spied some buckets, bales of hay, and various useless
odds and ends.

Red staggered along the walls, searching for a weak spot, a
section of wall that didn't meet with the floor. She kicked against the railing
of the animal pen and the cow protested in fear. It didn't matter. Neither a
frightened cow nor the continued throb of her head would stop her. If she could
get a board loose, it would help even the odds.

The board weakened, and she grasped it with both hands,
yanking it back and forth until the rusty nails pulled away and she fell
backward with a section of the wall in her hand. The pain in her head returned
in full force from the fall, and she instinctually grabbed it with both hands,
rocking back and forth to ease the pressure.

When the aching settled, she crawled over to Wen. His
breathing was shallow, but he was alive. The woman must have walloped him good.

She gently touched his face. "I sure wish you'd wake
up. Together we could take her."

Footsteps approached the barn.

She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain, and positioned
herself near the door with the broken board in hand.

Someone began to move the wooden latch and it scraped
against the outside of the door. The barn door opened, and Red swung the board
with all her strength, but pulled back at the last possible moment to avoid
hitting the little girl. The girl's eyes widened as she glanced from Red, to
the board in her hands, to Wen lying on the ground.

"Go." The girl looked terrified. "Go
now."

Red pushed the girl aside and started for the house. She
needed to find Cowboy. She approached the property with trepidation—she didn't
want to risk getting either of them killed with an ill-timed attempt at
heroism.

Inside, Cowboy argued, begged,
pleaded
with the
woman. Although she couldn't understand his muffled words, his tone said it
all. He was alive, but something was horribly wrong.

She peeked through the kitchen window and found him tied to
a chair with one arm stretched and bound tightly over the surface of the table.
The interior filled with the sound of animal howls and pounding noises, but Red
couldn't find the source. The insanity of what she witnessed left no room for
comprehension.

"Don't do it! Please!" Cowboy pleaded.
"Don't!"

The mother planned to slaughter him—one piece at a time. She
stormed into the cabin and swung the board with more strength than she thought
she possessed. It connected with the mother's head and she fell to her knees.
The silver-bladed butcher knife clattered on the floor beside her.

Red continued to hold the board above her head for another
strike, but the mother didn't get up. A four-inch nail had penetrated her skull
and blood dripped down the side of her face and neck, disappearing in tiny
rivers beneath her dress. She stared up at her assailant, shocked and dazed.

Red was tempted to hit her again, but the mother's eyes
rolled back and she collapsed onto the floor.

The growling and gnashing sounds persisted, but she could
only focus on Cowboy. The fear and gratitude in his eyes nearly brought her to
tears. She threw the board down and ran to him, tearing at the knots that bound
him to the chair. Once she released the ropes, he used his free hand to rip
away the others that bound his arm to the table. He pulled her toward him,
crushing her body against his chest.

"I thought you were dead." He squeezed her once
more and then grasped her face in his hands. "Thank you. Thank you for not
being dead. And for saving me—my arm."

He kissed her roughly, which came as a welcomed surprise.
Cowboy clung to her and she gave in to his embrace, reveling in the feel of his
arms around her. If the little girl hadn't opened the barn door when she did,
everything would be different right now.

"Can a woman forget her suckling child? He's the son of
my womb!"

Red whipped around and saw the mother standing on shaky
legs, thrusting the butcher knife in front of her to emphasize her words.

"Then shalt thou say in thine heart, who hath begotten
me these, seeing I have lost my children, and am desolate, a captive, and
removing to and fro?"

Cowboy shoved Red behind him as the crazed woman dragged
herself forward. Red wished she'd hit her a second time.

"My baby's hungry, and I will give her what she wants! I
will
not
forget my suckling child."

Baby?
Red's eyes widened.
The screeching and
pounding is coming from a baby?

Cowboy grabbed a chair and held it in front of him.
"That creature in there is not your baby, and you know it."

The woman shook her head. "She's my baby.
My baby
!
She's just sick, is all. And until she gets better, I will do what I have
to."

"You can't believe that—"

She waved the knife within inches of his face. "I will
do what I have to do!"

Red's makeshift weapon lay on the floor on the other side of
the room, out of reach. The chair in Cowboy's hands held the woman back, but as
she moved closer, they backed themselves into a corner with no way to defend
themselves. Cowboy tipped the table over and created a wall, but the woman only
tilted her head and smiled.

The racket from the other room persisted, a shriek that dug
at Red's eardrums like a beetle burrowing into her brain. It pricked her spine
and filled her with the desire to throttle its neck and end the noise.

"It's okay, sweetheart!" The mother cooed,
"I'm coming, darling."

The baby howled louder and the mother grinned with wild
determination before lunging forward. A blast vibrated off the walls and
silenced everything, including the little monster who bawled in the bedroom. A
heavy hush hung in the air.

The mother dropped her knife and clutched her middle as
blood seeped between her fingers. The fine white apron she wore slowly turned a
grisly reddish-brown, and when her last breath escaped her lips, she tumbled in
slow motion to the floor.

The blond-haired girl stood in the open doorway, eyes frozen
wide, clutching Red's Colt pocket pistol in her shaky hands.

The little girl bent down and carefully laid the gun at her
feet. She took a cautious step back, watching both Red and Cowboy with a blank
expression. She held her shoulders straight and strong, but her hands trembled.

"Rivers—" Cowboy moved toward her, but the girl
turned and bolted out the door. "Rivers!"

Red placed a hand on his arm. "Let me," she said.
"I'll go find her and the boy. You go check on Wen. He's in the
barn."

"Is he okay?"

"He's alive."

Cowboy nodded, comprehending.

The baby started to howl and pound the wall once again, and
they both turned their heads in the direction of the bedroom.

Cowboy sighed. "What do we do with that thing?"

Red didn't have a clue. She'd never killed a baby before and
wasn't sure she could. "Leave it." She glanced at the mother, prone
on the floor in a pool of her own blood. "Leave it all for now. The dead
can wait. We need to take care of the living."

She found the girl under the shadow of a pine tree, hugging
her knees to her chest. A few yards away, the boy sat beneath another tree with
his hands clasped around Lasso, burying his face in the dog's fur. Lasso's dark
eyes tracked Red, but he made no move to untangle himself from the boy's thin
arms.

Good dog
. He was exactly where he needed to be.

She lowered herself next to the girl and they sat together
in silence. When the girl needed to talk, Red would be there, ready to listen.
The fragrance of pine infused the air, and needles blanketed the ground. A calm
wind rustled the branches above, but there were no animal sounds or bird
chatter. They'd probably long since disappeared from this place.

Red pulled her own legs up to her chest, mimicking the girl.
She couldn't leave these children here. They'd never survive this far away from
civilization without an adult to take care of their needs. Perhaps one of the
camps would take them in. She could take them there and deposit them at the
gates. What other options did she have?

"I couldn't let her hurt you," Rivers said.
"No more. Not again."

Red nodded. "I know. Thank you."

"Is she dead?"

"Yeah, she is."

The girl wiped her eyes and laid her head on her knees.
"I didn't want to kill her."

"I know."

Rivers' small shoulders shook and she covered her face.

Red slid closer and placed a hand on the girl's arm. She
wanted to tell her everything would be fine, but the girl and her brother would
never be fine again.

"Doing the right thing isn't always easy." She
raised the girl's quivering chin and looked her in the eyes. "This plague
has forced me to do things I never thought I could do. Especially to the people
I loved."

Rivers threw her arms around Red and cried into her neck.
"I killed my momma."

Red nodded, smoothing her hair. "I know exactly how
you're feeling. I killed my pa." The revelation startled the girl and she
looked up. Red nodded. "I had to. I had no other choice."

"Did I have a choice?"

"No, you didn't. You saved our lives."

Rivers hugged her tighter, shaking uncontrollably as sobs
escaped her tiny body. "I'm scared."

"I know," Red whispered. "I know more than
you think."

***

"Are you going to kill my baby sister?" Rivers
stood near the barn with Fisher's arms wrapped around her waist.

Wen positioned himself behind them, woozy and in a great
deal of pain, and placed a hand on each of their fragile shoulders.

Cowboy looked to Red and she nodded. "We need to let
her go. Give her peace. It's the right thing to do."

"Are you going to shoot her?" Fisher's voice
wavered.

Red shook her head. She glanced at Cowboy and Wen who stared
at her in disbelief. Did they really expect her to put a bullet in the infant's
head? No, she would take care of the situation the only humane way she knew
how.

"What are you planning?" Cowboy wrinkled his brow.
"You can't get close to that thing—"

"She's not a thing," Rivers said, tears fresh on
her cheeks. "Her name's Brooke, and she was the most beautiful baby ever.
I got to hold her right after she was born and she liked it when I sang to
her."

"She liked to hold my finger," Fisher added.

"She was a good baby and hardly ever cried."
Rivers looked at Red, her eyes pleading. "She used to smile all the time
and laugh when I tickled her. She was super smart, too—I could tell."

Red nodded. "I bet she was wonderful."

"Our momma wasn't a bad person," Rivers said.
"She wasn't. She just loved Brooke very much."

Red took a deep breath and slowly released it. She didn't
want to do it, but no one else could. "I'll be as quick and gentle as I
can." She glanced from Rivers to the boy. "I promise you."

Rivers' lips trembled as tears slid down her pale cheeks.
Fisher avoided her gaze and stared at the ground.

"I have to do this. It's not fair to leave her here,
suffering. You do know that?"

Rivers nodded. Even the boy nodded his head.

"When it's over, we'll bury her with your mother. That
way, they can be together."

Red didn't think the kids should have to witness their loved
ones being burned. A burial would be best in this particular situation. They
were miles and miles from town, but they'd still have to dig a deep hole, just
in case.

Cowboy stepped up beside her. "Do you want me to come
with you?"

Red shook her head. "It's safer if I do this
myself." She indicated the kids with a tilt of her head. "You stay
with them."

"I'd feel better coming with you."

She touched his cheek. "Remember: I'm invincible,
you're not."

***

The little monster held the remains of a rat or squirrel and
crunched the bones between its tiny teeth. The creature caught sight of Red,
tossed the carcass aside, and glared at her. It howled with ferocity and
produced the same racket as earlier, when it rocked the crib from side to side
and pounded the wall. Drool spilled over its blackened lips and dripped to the
floor as it sniffed at the air—at her—with its partially decayed nose.

Red recoiled and wished she could just walk away and leave
the little beast to its own devices. Just having fed, the little zombie was at
its strongest, but left alone, it would wither and become weak. She couldn't
leave. It would be more cruel to walk away than to shoot it. The baby deserved
peace, wholeness—finality.

"It's okay, little one. It'll be over soon."

Red approached the cradle and kept an eye on the little
monster's wild arms, reaching for her through the bars of its cage. She raised
her knife, swallowed, and dragged the edge along the length of her left forearm
to release a trickle of blood. It dripped from her elbow, slow at first, then
in an accelerating rhythm.

The baby screeched, shook the bars of the crib, and snapped
at the air.

She held her arm above the baby's head, and the wild beast
lapped up the blood, frantic to catch each drop. It just might work, given what
had happened after a zombie bit her. One bite was all it took. No zombie had
ever bit her twice. Whatever kept her from turning had a powerful effect on
them as well. Her protection was their peril.

The little monster stopped moving. It looked up at her with
its glazed eyes—vacant of color, soulless—and began to foam at the mouth. A
twitch, a quick convulsion, and then stillness. Red pressed a cloth to her arm
and put pressure on it to staunch the blood flow. Then she pulled down her
shirtsleeve and slipped on her leather jacket to hide the evidence. No one
needed to know.

***

Red carried the baby outside wrapped in a pink quilt to
conceal its deformities. She created the illusion of a peaceful sleeping babe.
The children deserved the opportunity to say goodbye and remember their baby
sister as she used to be, not as this horrific creature. They needed closure.

Rivers approached her, but the boy held back. "Can I
hold her?"

Red nodded and lowered the baby into the girl's open arms.
She stepped back to give them a moment together.

"I haven't held her in months." Rivers cradled the
bundle to her chest. "Not since she got sick."

Red nodded and looked over at Wen and Cowboy.

When she caught Cowboy's eye, he immediately came to her.
"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You didn't get bit, did you?" He reached out and
took her hand. "Did you?"

"No bites, I promise. How's Wen?"

"He'll be okay. We're going to have to take it easy and
go slow."

She nodded and became conscious again of her own head
injury, which ached without reprieve. "We need to get away from here—even
if it's just a few miles. It'll be better for the kids, I think."

"I agree." He leaned in close and nodded toward
the children. "What're we gonna do with them?"

She shook her head. "We have to take them with us.
Maybe to the next town, or onto the camps in California. We can't leave them
here."

He watched the children for a moment and then looked at her.
"Are you sure you're okay?"

Red touched his face with affection. "Don't worry about
me. I'm more than okay."

***

All of them helped dig a large hole in the earth, taking
turns with a shovel—the one used to clonk them over the head—and pick axe they
found near the cabin. When it was deep enough, Cowboy and Wen lowered the
mother's shrouded body, wrapped in a homemade quilt, into the grave.

Red turned to Rivers, gave her a comforting look, and held
her hands out. "It's time."

Rivers handed the baby to Red, and she made a great effort
to lay the infant on the mother's chest. Wen and Cowboy shoveled mounds of
earth over the open grave while Red stood next to the children with her arms
wrapped around their shoulders.

The scene was awfully familiar. Her mother. Her brothers.
She'd experienced firsthand the kind of loss and uncertainty the kids felt.

When the last shovel full of dirt covered the grave, Rivers
stepped forward and placed a small wildflower on top of the fresh mound. "There
is an appointed time for everything." She spoke in a steady whisper.
"And a time for every affair under the heavens. A time to be born, and a
time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant. A time to
kill,"—she paused briefly and went on—"and a time to heal; a time to
tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to
mourn, and a time to dance."

Red recognized the scriptures—a time for everything. Her own
mother had read from the Bible daily, and Red had loved to hear the word of
God. She'd believed in their truth and doubted none of it, until the world
rotted with the plague and her family was destroyed. Floods, maybe. A whale
swallowing a man whole, perhaps. But the undead consuming their own children? A
just and loving God wouldn't have allowed for such a thing. The Bible had wise
words, if one believed in them. She no longer did.

Rivers wiped her eyes and glanced up at Red. "I'm
ready. We can go now."

***

They'd been riding for several miles when Red glanced back
over her shoulder. The blaze of the cabin, visible through the trees, sent
smoke billowing up to gray out the blue sky.

Another horribly familiar scene.