Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West)

by Angela Scott

  The zombie held the boy's leg in its vice-like grasp, wanting him, but unable to do anything about it. Its legs were missing from the knees down and the lower portion of its decrepit face was gone. A gaping hole occupied the place where its mouth had been—the boy's saving grace.

  Trace took his pistol in hand and fired twice into the zombie's skull, rendering it dead—well, deader. This didn't stop the boy from screaming—he continued to wail and thrash about as Trace snapped each bony digit that encircled Fisher's ankle and yanked the boy into his arms.

  "You okay?" He looked him over. "Did it bite you, scratch you?"

  Fisher shook his head through his tears, but Trace lifted the boy's pant legs one at a time to make sure.

  "Fisher!" Rivers ran a few paces in front of Red. She stumbled upon the dead zombie and began to scream, which set off Fisher all over again.

  Red pulled the girl into her arms in an attempt to calm her, while the boy wrapped himself around Trace and cried into his shoulder. Trace held him, unsure how to calm him. He'd never been good with kids, probably because he'd never been much of a kid himself. He watched Red comfort the girl and followed her example, rubbing the boy's back and telling him over and over that everything was fine. The little boy must have believed him, because he settled down.

  "Take 'em away from here." Wen darted his eyes back and forth between the zombie and the rest of them. "I've got this covered."

  Red led the girl away while Trace continued to carry Fisher, who had wrapped his little arms so tightly around his neck, the kid just might squeeze the life right out of him.

  "You're okay, buddy." He patted the boy on the back until Fisher's arms relaxed and he could breathe again.

  "What the hell happened?" Red looked as though she might tear him apart piece by piece. Trace didn't think he could feel any worse than he already did, but Red's contempt succeeded in doing just that.

  "We didn't see it. It must've been laying in the grass before Fisher came up on it. I'm sorry."

  She turned on him, her hands balled into fists. "There's no room here for apologies."

  "Damn it, Red! I didn't see the zombie! It was hidden—a fluke circumstance. Fisher's fine. Nothing happened."

  "Rivers, take your brother over by the horses for a minute, please." Red took Fisher away from Trace and set him on his feet.

  Rivers grabbed her brother's hand and led him away, but stared over her shoulder at them the entire time.

  With the kids a safe distance away, Red pushed against his chest with enough force it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He'd expected as much. "He could've been killed!"

  "Don't you think I know that?"

  Trace was ready for her now and steeled himself for a slap in the face, a punch to the gut, a kick in the crotch—something. When her shoulders sunk and she covered her face with her hands, he was dumbfounded. He wasn't prepared for tears.

  "This is too hard," she said. "We can't keep them safe, can we?"

  He put his arms around her. She tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight and she eventually gave in. "We're doing okay. We could be doing better, but right now, the kids are fine. I'll have to be more aware, more in tune, so nothing like this ever happens again." He kissed the top of her head. "We'll get them to the next town in a couple of days and find people who are better equipped to take care of them. We can handle a couple of days."

  Red shook her head and buried her face in his chest. "We can't leave them in town. We have to come up with a different plan."

  "What do you mean a different plan? I thought the plan we had was a good one—get the kids to safety and then go after your brother."

  She shook her head once again. "My brother is gonna have to wait."

  "Red, what's going on?"

  "It's Rivers. Down by the bank, she saw me bathing and showed me her back."

  Trace didn't follow.

  "She's like me, Cowboy." Red looked up at him. "She has three old bite wounds on her back. She's just like me."

  His arms fell away from her and he glanced over at the children. The girl? How was that possible? He glanced at the boy and then back to Red. "Fisher?"

  She shook her head. "He's never been bitten, and I don't want to take the chance."

  "But he could—"

  "My brothers couldn't."

  Trace took off his hat and ran a hand through his dark locks. "You saw the bites?"

  "Yeah, I did."

  "You're sure?"

  Red nodded. "I'm positive."

  "If you and Rivers can both survive being bitten, then there have to be others."

  "My thoughts exactly, but it will be difficult to find them." She slipped her arms around his waist. "I know what happened to me when I told someone who I thought could help. He nearly killed me. You can't tell me there aren't more people like that out there, eager to get their hands on people with ability like ours"—she motioned to the girl and herself—"even if they have to destroy us in the process." She stared up at him. "I won't let that happen to her."

  "Me neither." He hugged her once again—a perfect fit. "I won't let anyone hurt either of you. We'll just have to go where no one can find us."

  She held him a little tighter. "That's what I was thinking."

  Chapter 17 – Wanted

  "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 thin
k 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 responsi
ble 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?"