Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West)

by Angela Scott

  "That's not what I'm saying." She looked at him directly. "The next time I'm bit, I want you to shoot me."

  Trace couldn't believe what she was saying. She lived through a zombie bite, multiple times, and she wanted to be shot? "Neither of us are gonna do that."

  She hauled off and threw her mug of unfinished coffee at Trace, missing him by only inches. It disappeared into the darkness behind him and clattered against a tree in the distance. Red had quite an arm on her. He didn't know if she was trying to hit him or just intimidate him, but it sure got his attention.

  "You don't know what it's like for me!" She turned away from Trace and pounced on Wen. "I told you everything, so you promise me then. I mean it!"

  Wen looked like a scared rabbit with his head in a noose. He turned to Trace for support, but Red grabbed a hold of his arm and forced him to look at her—the noose tightened. "I don't want to go through it again. Please."

  "You can't possibly be serious." Trace railroaded the conversation away from Wen. "If you reacted like the rest of us, then hell yeah, I'd shoot you. But the fact is you can survive a zombie bite. That means something."

  "What does it mean? Tell me, because all I know is that being dragged to hell and back is more than I can bear. And to what purpose? So I can do it all over again? Or perhaps it's so I can watch everyone I love suffer and die."

  "You're a miracle, Red! I'm not shooting you." Trace realized Red wasn't wanted because she'd committed a crime, but because she was a treasured oddity.

  She laughed. "Miracle? I'm no miracle. If anything, I'm cursed."

  "You're not thinking straight—"

  Red shot to her feet. "I've never been more clear-headed than I am right now, you horse's ass!"

  "Horse's ass? You're a freakin' lunatic!" The words exploded from his mouth before he thought to stop them.

  Wen jumped up and positioned himself between them, catching Red's hand before she struck Trace's face. "I'll shoot you," Wen said. "If that's what you really want, I'll do it—I promise."

  Trace couldn't believe it. "You're willing to shoot the one person, the one person, who could survive the plague and help the rest of us figure out how we can, too? Are you out of your mind?"

  Wen glanced back and forth between them. "If it's what she wants, then who are we to deny her? You don't know what it's like to be bit. She does."

  Trace shook his head. "You're both nuts. I almost want to shoot the pair of ya right now."

  Wen just smiled at him. "Trace, I promised I'd shoot her if she gets bit. But I'm gonna make damn sure she never does. That there's my promise to you."

  "You can't promise—" Red started, but Wen cut her off before she could finish.

  "I'm not gonna let you get bit. That way, I'll never have to fulfill my promise to shoot you."

  Both Red and Trace stared at him, unsure of what to say, stunned.

  "And just so you know," Wen continued. "I always keep my promises."

  ***

  A rustle of branches came from the darkened trees, and Trace turned his gun in that direction. Red had drawn her guns a split second before him. Wen also had his rifle cocked and ready. Trace didn't think a zombie had managed to climb the ridge, given their slow gait and dangling limbs, but anything was possible. If a human intruder had seen the low fire burning, their eyesight would have to be incredible. As far as camps went, this one was all but invisible.

  A bush swayed, a twig snapped, and the creature stepped into the clearing. Its ears flattened against its head, and its dark eyes shimmered with a reddish glow from the firelight. It stared at each of them in turn, raised its head slightly, and sniffed the air. Its hair lay matted against its bony skull, and its dark tongue hung over the side of its panting mouth. Mud covered all four scrawny limbs, and a line of crusted dirt ran from the top of its head to its blackened nose. It had to be the ugliest mutt Trace had ever seen.

  All three of them stood there and watched, but did nothing.

  "You seeing what I'm seeing?" Trace asked no one in particular.

  "Yeah," Wen said. "I think he's hungry."

  Red put her guns away and knelt on the dirt. "It's okay." She held her hand out toward the strange creature. "No one's gonna hurt you."

  "For crying out loud," Trace said. "Don't invite it over here! We don't know what it's capable of."

  Red glared up at Trace and continued to reassure the dog. He was just watching out for her. It could attack, or be full of disease. Why didn't she think of that?

  "Look at him. He's scared to death. And it's amazing he found us way out here. Means he's smart." She continued to hold out her hand. "Come here, boy. Come on now, don't be afraid."

  Just what they needed—a smelly, dirty, crotch-sniffing dog.

  Wen knelt down next to Red and together they tried to urge the mangy animal forward. The dog took a couple of steps, but wouldn't come any further.

  "You're doing it wrong." Trace reached into his bag and produced a piece of dried meat. "Okay, you ugly thing. Here ya go." He tossed the meat a few yards from the animal. The cautious dog just eyed it and stared up at him. "Go on, mutt. Eat it."

  The dog didn't make a move for the meat, even in its apparent hunger.

  "It's there if you want it. I'm going to bed." Trace turned away and climbed into his bedroll.

  "You certainly have a way with animals, Cowboy." Thick sarcasm coated Red's words. "I'm impressed."

  "I can smell that dog from here. It stinks."

  "You stink and we keep you around."

  Trace didn't know what to make of her anymore. "You know, ever since you got sick you've been nothing but a pain in the—"

  "Enough!" Wen interrupted. "Knock it off, you two. The world is full of walking dead people and all you can do is bicker like children. Kiss and make up already." Wen directed his command toward Trace. "I'm gonna get the dog a bowl of water."

  Red stood, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at Trace. "Yeah, apologize. But don't even think about kissing me."

  "I promise you, it didn't even cross my mind." Trace shook his head. "What exactly am I supposed to apologize for? I've done nothing wrong here."

  Red's arms fell to her sides and a pained expression washed over her face. "You think calling me a lunatic isn't worth an apology?"

  She turned away from him and focused her attention on the dog, who took a few more steps toward her with its tail tucked between its legs.

  Trace let out his breath. She was right. He should have apologized right away, but he allowed his ego to keep him from doing so. Taking his lead from the dog, he walked up and stood beside her, his invisible tail hanging low. "I'm sorry. I never should've said that. I didn't mean it."

  "No, you meant it." She nodded softly. "But you don't understand where I'm coming from when I say I can't go through it anymore. It's unbearable, and the thought of suffering that kind of hell one more time terrifies me."

  He made a move to touch her arm, but held back. "You're right. I don't know what you've been through. But I do know I could've treated you with more respect. You didn't deserve that and I hope you can forgive me."

  Red turned to him, her eyes wet with tears that didn't fall. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

  The filthy dog took a few more steps toward them and bumped its cold nose against Trace's hand. Damn, the mangy beast is kind of cute.

  He rubbed the dog's dirty head and scratched it between the ears. "You still smell."

  The dog lay down and rolled over onto its back with all four legs extended into the air. The mutt almost appeared to smile, with its big ol' tongue hanging out over its jowls.

  Trace knelt and gave the smelly mutt the belly rub it was looking for.

  Chapter 10 – Lonely Boys

  They came upon it too soon for Trace's liking. He knew they'd encounter a fully functioning town sooner or later, but he'd hoped for a little more time. He needed to be certain. They'd passed through two ghost towns during their travels, and a third would have bee
n just fine at the moment.

  He stared at the small town that lay ahead, knowing he would have to make a decision. He owed Red nothing. They hardly knew each other. Hell, they were barely more than acquaintances—traveling buddies at best.

  He took a sideways glance at Red and a ripple of doubt buckled his resolve. She had no clue about his plan. Trace read it on her features. Her innocent green eyes trusted he was the person he claimed to be. She probably didn't know that a flyer with her face on it even existed. If he were a better person, he would have told her.

  With a pretty good idea why the authorities wanted her, he now had a duty to hand her over. The world needed her ability to sidestep death. People were dying all over the country, and there she stood—a beacon of hope.

  "What are we waiting for?" Wen eyed him. "Let's go."

  Trace didn’t think he was ready for this. Whatever decision he made, it would have consequences.

  "Maybe we should pass this one up. I'm not sure it's safe."

  Wen shook his head. "I don't think we have a choice. We've already passed by two ghost towns, and our supplies are dwindling. Who knows if any other towns lay ahead. We can't take that chance."

  "Wen's right." Red sat on the horse behind Trace with her arms wrapped loosely around his waist—a sensation he enjoyed. "We need food, or we're gonna have to resort to eating the dog."

  The mangy mutt stood and wagged its tail.

  "I don't think he'll taste very good." Trace hardly heard a word either of them said. His mind was elsewhere.

  "You do know I was joking, right?" Red's arms fell away from his waist.

  Trace took a deep breath and focused on the town ahead. "Yeah, of course. Sorry. I guess we should see if they'll let us in."

  He secretly hoped they wouldn't.

  ***

  The town had locked down behind a small fortress of chopped wood, overturned wagons, crates, barrels, and barbed wire. Men on rooftops stood guard with their rifles, ready to shoot anyone who showed symptoms, and law enforcement officials guarded the only entrance.

  It reminded Trace of the makeshift wooden fences erected around Sundance, except this place looked a bit more organized. This town took the added step of keeping a doctor at the ready, to shove a thermometer into each person's mouth before letting them enter.

  "You're fine," the doctor told Wen. He barely cleaned the little glass cylinder with his cloth before forcing it in Trace's mouth.

  How many mouths has this sucker been in?

  His stomach churned, and if he thought about it any longer, he'd be sick, which more than likely would get him shot.

  Just don't think about it. Just don't think about it.

  After five minutes, the doctor declared him healthy and turned to Red, who didn't seem the least bit disturbed when he placed the thermometer in her mouth without sanitizing it. Stupid country doctors.

  Trace patted his leg, and the ugly mutt sauntered up to him. "You're lucky." Trace rubbed the dog's ears. "They're not gonna take your temperature. No they're not."

  He snapped his head up. They wouldn't do that, would they?

  After a few minutes, they received the go-ahead—the animals unchecked—and proceeded into town.

  They rode down the middle of the main street on their horses. Everyone went about their business as usual, seemingly unaffected by the plague. Buildings rose on both sides, and the residents conducted themselves as they would in any normal town. It was as if they'd stepped back in time, into a place untouched by the craziness outside its borders. Men and women walked down the street, hand in hand. Horses were tied to hitching posts outside the General Store, while their owners chewed tobacco and spit into the bronze spittoon at their feet. Even music played. A honky tonk twang filtered out of the bar and into the streets.

  It almost made Trace believe this was reality.

  He watched a little boy pop candy from his bag into his greedy little mouth as if he had no cares in the world. Several old men sat on a bench in front of the defunct bank, watching people pass by. A man wearing a white apron swept the porch in front of the barbershop. A girl carried flowers. Two ladies stood near the entrance to the saloon and gave Wen and Trace a wink. He didn't know whether to relax or be on guard.

  "You lonely, boys?" the raven-haired one called to them, angling her stance to reveal the garter around her thigh. "We can show you a good time."

  Trace tipped his hat to them and shook his head. "No, thank you, ma'am," he said. "But I appreciate the offer."

  "I may be back!" Wen smiled and waved to them. He cranked his head to keep the women within his sights as the three of them rode on. "Don't go anywhere!"

  They giggled, and Trace saw Red roll her eyes in disgust.

  "You sure you guys want to continue west?" A crooked grin played across Wen's lips. "I think I like this place. The people are friendly and accommodating."

  "You're just horny," Trace said.

  Wen continued to smile.

  Trace had to admit, a little female company would do wonders for him, too. But a more pressing matter weighed on his mind: what to do with Red.

  "We should rest here tonight, see what supplies they have available, and get a room at the hotel with a big ol' bed for each of us. We'll head out tomorrow at first light after a big supper and a good night's sleep. That sound a'right to everyone?" They each nodded.

  "I'm gonna go see if they have any rooms available." Trace slipped off his horse and tied the reins to a post.

  Red climbed from the back of his horse and stood next to him. "I'll come with you to get a room. I mean...." She stumbled over her words as her neck and face flushed. "...get my room. You know what I mean."

  Trace smiled and gave her a wink. "Let's go see what they have."

  "Hey, is it okay with you two if I go now?" Wen still had his eye on the women standing in front of the saloon. "Do I need to help you get supplies or something?"

  "Go on." Trace waved him off. "Do what you gotta do. You won't be much use to us otherwise. But meet up here later, a'right? We need to check out the General Store." Among other things.

  "Yeah, will do." Wen had already started to walk away. He turned and smiled. "I'll be back in a bit."

  Trace caught the look of concern on Red's face as Wen left. "He'll be back. Don't worry."

  Red shook her head. "It's not that. It's just that I can't imagine"—she shook her head again—"Never mind. I'm being ridiculous."

  She started for the hotel entrance, but Trace grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Ridiculous? What do you mean?"

  Red glanced in the direction Wen had gone and then back at Trace. "It's nothing, really."

  Trace furrowed his brow. "Something's bothering you. Just tell me. Maybe I can help."

  She lowered her eyes a fraction to avoid his. "There are some things about men I just don't understand." She bit her lower lip. "But I don't want them explained to me either, least of all by you. Let's just get some rooms."

  Much as he wanted to continue the conversation with her, he had no idea what she was talking about—only that it had something to do with Wen. The least she could do was make an effort to be intelligible.

  He held the door open to The Grand Palace Hotel and waited for her to pass through it.

  The dog tried to follow them, but Trace held up his hand. "Stay. Sorry, boy, you can't come in, but I'll scrounge up a little something for ya." The dog wagged its tail before flopping on the porch to wait, as if the dog understood everything he said.

  At least the ugly mutt was a heck of a lot easier to communicate with than Red.

  ***

  "Here's your key." Trace pressed it into Red's palm. "I'll be right next door if you need anything. Wen will be down the hall, third door on the left. I suggest you stay in tonight, just to play it safe."

  Red narrowed her brows. "Are you staying in?"

  "I figured I'd check things out, see if I might get a feel for the town."

  "So you're going out and Wen's having
himself a great time exploring the fine inhabitants of this town, but I'm supposed to stay in and do nothing because I'm a girl? Is that what you're trying to say?"

  Damn, she's difficult. If she just kept to her room for the evening, he wouldn't have to worry about someone recognizing her before he decided what to do.

  "This place makes me nervous. I'm just trying to look out for you, and it would be better if you didn't go out—not until I got a better feel for things. So why not just stay in, take a bath, and read a book or something. Doesn't that sound good?"

  Red folded her arms across her chest, and Trace knew he was losing her. "It did until you suggested it. I don't like being told what to do."

  "I'm beginning to understand that." He nodded in an attempt to ease the situation. "This place is a little suspicious, and since you're a girl and all, I just want to keep you safe."

  The heat from her glare made him regret his words. His eyes flicked briefly to her hands and then to her holstered guns. She didn't reach for them, so he relaxed. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that."

  She rolled her room key around in her fingers and eyed him. "I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time."

  "I know."

  "You should be more worried about yourself. This town seems like the kind to eat you up and spit you out."

  She must be the most stubborn woman he'd ever met, and he was in no mood for a battle of wills. Red could take this round. "You're probably right."

  Red put her key in the lock, opened the door, and turned to him once more before stepping into her room. "I know I am."

  Chapter 11 – Trapped with a Madman

  Red assessed the borders surrounding the town. They were good—well constructed. Men guarded the gates from the rooftops, which appeared even better. Nevertheless, everything the officials had done to protect the small town—including the doctor with his thermometer—provided only a temporary fix.

  The zombies would eventually sniff out the healthy human meat. They would come.

  She'd been concerned when they first approached the town and found the doctor waiting. She'd quickly tried to come up with a plan to avoid the thermometer and its results, but when she watched him read Wen and Trace's temperatures, it became clear the "doctor" didn't know much about medicine. She opened her mouth and allowed him to slip the tiny tool under her tongue without saying a word.