The Ten Thousand Things

by Tim Marquitz

  Nina stood, sighted, leaned into the stock of her Spencer, and dropped two more deaduns, brains and hair and eyes flying into the pines with wet splashes. She looked around for Cato.

  The big man had pulled Miguel from the front line and placed him against the workhouse wall. His gun leaned there, too, and that was one less used against the deaduns. Cato held a handful of Miguel's entrails, loopy strands like a bag chock-full of snakes, and tried in vain to keep them inside even as they slid between his fingers. Blood poured out of the Mexican's stump, and his skin was gray.

  Cato mumbled, “Oh, Lord. Oh shit. Oh shit, Lord. We're in some shit.”

  Nina's heart went out to the man, but she couldn't spend time worrying about it. She held the left flank now by herself, and deaduns were closing. Nina hunched over her Spencer, eyes glancing at the sky.

  George echoed her sentiments. “We ain't doin' shit with that goddamn thing flyin' around up there!”

  “I'll drop the bastard.” Buck searched the darkness, determinedly poised, his monster pistol at the ready.

  “Get it,” George shouted, surprising encouragement coming from the Rebel. “I'll cover ya and keep killing these bastards.”

  Pa and Manning shouted an exchange, James yelling the news to her. “Nina, we're going to make a break for Ramdohr’s house.”

  Nina nodded, a tremble rattling her as the flying thing's shriek split her ears. Beating wings sounded overhead. She ducked her head, glancing up, then dodged a grabbing deadun and walloped it with her rifle butt. With that damn thing in the sky and biters all over, making a break for it might not make much difference.

  The deaduns kept coming into the work yard. They’d knocked over pieces of the fence facing the woods and pressed in through the gaps, sacrificing their flesh for those who came behind. Their bodies piled up, death in mounds of putrid, twitching flesh.

  The shadow swooped back down again. Nina dropped, feeling the air curl around her head as it soared by, her butchered locks whipping. Missing her, the thing lifted and dropped again, putting those clutching talons into Red Thunder.

  Nina’s stomach dropped, knowing what that diabolical thing had done to Christopher. She couldn’t lose Red Thunder. She tried to get a bead, as the Indian grasped at a greasy-looking, taloned leg and swatted it with the business end of his tomahawk, cutting huge, licorice-colored chunks from it. The thing shrieked and released Red, flapping its wings with frantic intent as it aimed for the sky. Buck's gun went off, and the leaking bird-thing fluttered madly toward the pines, crashing amidst the branches.

  “Ma'am!” someone yelled.

  It was Cato, and she didn't have to look to know his words were a warning. She backed up and barely avoided a swiping hand belonging to a one-armed deadun. It staggered, and a second bony biter with frizzy white hair and a blood-soaked gown bustled around it, leading with its snapping jaws and a mouthful of black, broken teeth.

  Nina stumbled, fell into Cato. The big man pulled her to her feet with one arm and cracked the white-haired deadun with his shotgun barrel. Nina charged the one-armed biter and smashed it in the head with the butt of her Spencer. Instead of going down it slavered and hissed, so she spun the barrel around. She'd lost track of how many bullets she had left, but pulled the trigger anyway and her piece fortunately lit the bastard up.

  More piled in on her and Cato, cutting off their escape route. She looked for her pa and Manning, picking out the flash of James’ gun. He was embroiled across the yard, a score of deaduns between ‘em. Three or four snatched at her as the black man beside her bellowed and swung his emptied weapon. A deadun grabbed hold of the shotgun barrel and they started tugging it back and forth.

  Grabbing hands and gnashing teeth blocked her view. Nina pulled the trigger, but this time got a hollow click in response.

  “Shit!” She threw the Spencer at the deadun and pulled her knife. Her stomach churned with panic, but she forced it down as best she could. Allowing fear to take hold meant hesitation, and hesitation meant death.

  She caught a glimpse of Pa, James, Jasmine, and Rachel as they fled the work yard, whereas here she was trapped down at the far end. Over the gunfire, yells, and moans, she could hear Pa hollering her name.

  “I’m comin’!” she hollered in reply, but he couldn’t hear her.

  It’s all right, she thought. Keep your wits.

  Nina told herself she was not alone. Her brothers and sisters encouraged her from the Shadow Lands, their song a slow and purposeful hum, giving her faith when others might have long ago become paralyzed by fear. She wouldn't die here. She wouldn't allow it.

  A feral cry escaped her lips, and she dove at the oncoming wall of flesh. Like a snake, her knife bit, and she shoved inanimate bodies away, dropping them and creating a barrier of dead and rotten flesh two or three deaduns high.

  Cato almost got his ass stabbed as he stumbled into her—she’d plumb forgot he was still there. She held her knife thrust, glancing at the dull, general purpose knife in the big man’s oversized fist. Standing together, his blade was a couple inches shorter than hers; she couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Trade me?” The big man said and grinned. Nina found it a surprisingly comforting expression in all this slaughter.

  She shook her head and flashed a grin back. “Just do as I do.”

  “I’m a’doin’.”

  Separated from the rest, it was time to fight for their goddamn lives.

  Despite his sweet demeanor, Cato was an awesome brute, his style simple and effective. He held his knife in his left fist, raised it to his chest in a reverse grip, and folded his right hand over top in a two-handed grasp. He roared, and from the corner of her eye, Nina saw him nearly decapitate a deadun with a powerful downward swing to the throat. His dull blade slashed through its neck in a splatter of yellowed bone and gristle.

  Soon they'd cut a swath through the moving flesh, shielded by the growing wall of putrid dead on their left. Nina got an idea. A longshot, but wasn't everything a longshot these past few days?

  “Stack them against the wall.”

  “What?”

  “I said, stack them, damn it, against that wall!” She pointed.

  Light dawned in Cato's eyes, and he tucked his knife in his pants. By this time, his shirt had been ripped free by clawing deaduns, and his dark skin glistened and pulsed as he went to work, pulling bodies even as Nina laid them out.

  After what seemed like an eternity, although Nina knew it was only a minute or less, Cato said, “All right, miss. I hope this works!”

  Nina didn't even turn. She had her eyes on a group of deaduns not so fresh from the grave. They had a dusty look about them, held together by little more than sinew. “Go then.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “You first. If it'll hold you, then it'll hold me. Now get up there. We ain’t got time to argue.”

  The big man grunted, and the wet sounds of his climbing reached her ears. Bones crunched, presumably beneath Cato's bulk. She thought she might have heard him retch at some point.

  Nina carved up two of the old timers, dust-choking snappers, with their mummified flesh pulled tight across their faces. Was Liao running out of fresh bodies?

  Just when Nina thought she'd never hear from Cato again, he shouted, “I'm up! Hah! Lord be praised! Come on!”

  Nina reached deep, dragging her resolve from the shadows, searching for something to kindle the fire of her spirit. She remembered Red Thunder's words; she only need let the People in, to feel them in her soul, to become one in spirit. But how would it affect her? Would she lose a piece of herself? Would she still be Nina Weaver? The strong, independent part of her resisted. She'd already given herself to James Manning, and she trusted Jasmine with all her heart. Wasn't that enough?

  No. The voice of the boha gande spoke inside her. Ninataku, you have, and always will be at one with the People. They will always love you, surely as the sun rises every morning. Life is about bravery and strength, yes, but it is also abo
ut letting go. Let go. There is nothing to fear.

  Nina sighed, removed all the barriers around her heart and mind. She exposed her spirit to her brothers and sisters among the Shoshone.

  Defend your daughter, she asked them. Touch my spirit. Help me.

  A wind filled her lungs, some gust from the Spirit World. A high-pitched aieee tore from her throat, a war cry from the other side, something akin to what Red Thunder had issued when attacking Liao Xu back at the fort. Nina imagined she could crack the earth with such a call, her voice a hammer in the hand of gods. The sound drove her forward into the deadun ranks, kicking, stabbing, knocking them down, buying time.

  When she thought she'd created enough space, Nina turned and sprinted for the pile. It was a four-foot mound of twisted, bloated carcasses. Stomach's popped with oozing gasses, tongues lolled from crushed mouths. Their sightless eyes bulged, staring up at the glaring Sierra Nevada moon.

  Cato stood on the worker's quarter roof, squatting down, both hands open for her. If she could just make it...

  Nina hit the pile running, one boot finding purchase, then sinking as part of a deadun's chest gave way. Her other boot caught and slipped too, traction fleeting beneath her heels. She stormed up the pile, barely gaining ground.

  Nina fell forward, her hands in it now; her fingers brushing exposed bone, poking soft, wet places, sinking into squishy cavities, and clutching limbs covered in viscous slime. Nina kept her head up, eyes on Cato.

  “C'mon! You can do it!” he encouraged her.

  At the top, she stretched, but remained a good ten inches short of the big man’s grip. Her other hand slapped against the edge of the splintery roof but she hadn't the strength to pull herself up. A deadun beneath her slid sideways, and Cato grabbed for her and missed. Nina found purchase on another corpse, jumping as best she could on the soft flesh. Cato squatted further, grasped, missed again.

  For a brief instant, Nina thought about turning and taking her chances with the biters. Could she somehow carve and dodge her way out of this mess?

  No. She'd give it one more try...

  Nina leapt again—feeling deadun hands grabbing at her feet now. A stilled biter rolled off the pile beneath her, and she knew there was nothing left beneath her feet to land on. Cato knelt and stretched. Nina's fingers wiggled for something, anything…

  The big man’s hand clapped over her wrist, enveloping it in his grip.

  He hoisted her up and up, out of the yanking hands of deaduns below, her stomach and legs scraping against the edge of the roof, splinters of wood clawing at her skin. She landed atop Cato, sprawled across his bare chest. Without thinking, Nina took the man’s damp head in her hands and kissed his sweaty forehead.

  Cato looked more terrified of Nina than he had of the deaduns. “Now, miss, that ain't...”

  Nina picked herself up and offered her hand. “Shut up. That was a thank you.”

  “Yes’m.” Cato took her hand but helped himself up mostly; there weren't many men, oxen, or mules capable of getting the huge fellow to his feet if he didn’t oblige, figuring he had to be all of three hundred pounds.

  Still flustered, Cato led Nina across the low quarter roof, which butted against the barn. A ladder hugged the far wall.

  “This go to the top of the barn?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can we get down the other side?”

  Cato nodded. “We can, just be careful.”

  Nina went up the ladder in seconds, suddenly finding herself perched on a perilous incline. She took two steps and froze, Cato’s warning sinking in. Her boots barely gripped the wooden shingles, and she could feel the smooth, weather-worn dryness. A faint wind buffeted her. What if she fell? Must be a thirty-foot fall. Nina pictured herself sliding down the overlapping slats to be summarily dumped into the horde of deaduns below. Or worse, what if there was another of those things flying around? The roof had been a good idea when she first thought of it, but now she wasn’t so sure. She pitched herself against slanted surface, one hand clinging to the peak.

  “Miss.”

  “What?”

  “Ain't nothin' to be scared of. Watch me.”

  Nina opened her eyes a squint and watched Cato climb up the two or three feet to the top. He stood with one foot on either side of the peak and smiled down at her, squatted and offered his hand. “I done this a hundred times. Just like you done that down there.”

  Nina nodded and took the rough, work-hardened hand and allowed herself to be pulled up. She stood easily with Cato’s support, surveying the scene. Deaduns swarmed out of the pine forest behind them, staggering through the moonlight. There were so many.

  But no sign of her friends.

  “Let's go before they get around the barn.”

  Cato led Nina across the roof. Short, shallow breaths and counting steps got her across. At the far end, Cato pointed in the direction of the house.

  “Someone made it. See them lanterns?”

  Two or three lights bobbed on the long porch around the front of the house. As they watched, gunshots flared in front of the lanterns. Folks were alive over there and making a stand, but that meant the deaduns were coming from elsewhere, too.

  Cato shimmied down the roof a pace and spun onto a ladder ascending the front of the barn. Nina followed, experiencing brief vertigo as she turned to maneuver on the top rung. She managed to clamber down and drop quietly into the grass next to Cato.

  They stood at the front of the barn facing the house. Yelling voices reached them now, as well as another pattering of gunfire, and Cato put a finger to his lips and nodded in the direction of dark forms ambling in the direction of the homestead. None of them had spotted Nina and her big friend…yet.

  “We gonna have to go around. We can't—”

  “Follow me,” Cato said, then, “Wait. Hold on.” He reached inside the open barn door and retrieved a long shaft, and Nina noticed it had a curved hook coming off the side and a spike at the end. It looked more like some durn gothic weapon than a logging tool. “This’ll do. Got me a peavey hook.”

  A bullet bit into the barn, chipping off a piece of wood. Cato ducked, wide-eyed. “Good Heavens! All right, let’s get,” he hissed as he hunched over and angled toward the back of the homestead, clutching his new weapon.

  Nina kept to the man’s heels. It was a quiet, deadly run. Any deaduns they came across they dispatched quickly and quietly, her with her knife and Cato with his spear-hook thing. The biters never even seen ‘em til it was too late. Soon they had made it around the back of the homestead, panting and hunkered down behind a row of bushes against the stone foundation.

  Nina climbed up and over the railing and set foot on the porch, Cato right behind her. They tried to be stealthy about it, but the old wood creaked and groaned under the big man’s weight, some of the boards warping beneath his booted feet.

  “Everyone’s in a panic,” he whispered. “How we do this without getting ourselves shot? They might mistake us for one of those things.”

  As if reinforcing the statement, another spattering of gunfire rang out from the front of the house. Cato about jumped out of his half-clothed skin, and Nina drew her Colt Navy, glad she'd spared the ammunition. It fit snug in her hand despite her blistered palm.

  “Can you whistle?” she asked.

  Cato smiled, his teeth flashing in the dark. “I know more tunes than I can count. Some I done made up myself. You should hear me play ‘Ol’ Dan Tucker’ on the five-string. Lord, I miss my bangie.”

  Nina patted his bare arm. “I hope I get to. For now you just whistle one of them tunes. I’ll lead the way.”

  And he did. A lilting, Irish-sounding melody sounded from his lips, lifting into the foul air with the brightness of a sunrise. Nina started off, rounded the north corner of the homestead, and ran smack into the solid shadow of someone coming round the other side.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GEORGE WAS A LITTLE SLOW ON the draw. His rifle came up a full second after Nina's
blade touched his unshaven throat. She smiled upon seeing him and sheathed her knife, then frowned. His head was leaking blood again.

  George cursed at nearly getting his throat cut, but nodded when he recognized Nina. “Thought you was a goner.”

  “What happened to your head?”

  George shook it. “My head?”

  “You’re bleedin’.”

  He rubbed his hand across his head and looked at his fingers. “Shit. I scrapped with more than one of those deaduns. Who knows? Now you mention it, same fuckin’ spot I hit it on before…throbs like the dickens. Not sure what it is about my head these days…”

  “You mean it bein' so empty and all?”

  George sneered. “Fuck you, squaw.”

  “And fuck you sideways, you scaly-assed Confederate fucknut.”

  George put his hands on his hips, then snickered. “Alright then. Come on around. Whoa, damn!” His gaze alighted on Cato. “Didn’t even see you there, ni…I mean…uh, where’s yer shirt?”

  “Them deaduns tore it right offa me.”

  George nodded. “All right, well, come on.” He walked off, waving Nina and Cato to follow. “Don’t shoot,” he said as he rounded the corner of the house, followed by, “Look who's back from the dead.”

  A shadow hurried toward her, grasped her shoulders, and squeezed her. “I thought I lost ya, girl.”

  Nina squeezed back, and she meant it. “I'm fine, Pa.”

  “I'm serious, Nina. Don't ever do that again...” Then he hugged her hard a second time.

  “Couldn't be helped. Got penned in, but I was with Cato here. I owe him.”

  “No, ma’am,” Cato said. “I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you.”

  Before the big man finished his sentence James Manning crushed her in a hug of his own. “Christ, Nina. You scared the living hell out of us. Don't know what I would have done if...”

  “You woulda went on,” she said, but she thought she saw moisture in the man’s eyes.

  Buck stepped back from the porch rail, interrupting the moment. “Gotta reload, James. Need ya, son. Glad you’re still with us, Nina.” The roughrider sat down at a table illuminated with a partially-shuttered lantern. Pouches of powder and lead balls were scattered across the surface. Buck began assembling loads for his pistol.