Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West)

by Angela Scott

  No one could get inside the fort without one of them opening the gates. As far as she knew, no one planned to do that.

  "Sounds like fireworks," Rivers said.

  The booms came quickly, some in unison—three or four shots fired at once. No one had to tell Red there were several gunfighters out there.

  This attack on the zombies should have come as a blessing, but Red knew that anyone who would approach a zombie-infested fort had to have an ulterior motive. The question was, were they friends or foes? The people outside the gate could kill all the walking dead they wished, but it didn't mean they should let them in.

  "Can't tell how many are out there," Cowboy called to Wen. "Too dark to be certain. But they're sure slaughtering the zombies."

  Red huddled with Caroline, Ira, and the kids, and waited out the storm of gunfire. It only went on for five minutes or so, but felt like hours. The assault stopped almost as quickly as it had begun, and with it the moans and gate-scratching they'd all grown accustomed to.

  "All clear!" someone shouted from outside the walls. "Stand down!"

  Red wished she were in better health, because she desperately wanted to climb the ladder and see for herself. Who was it? How many? This feeling of helplessness made her antsy.

  "You there!" a man's voice called over the wall. "Are you aware that you're unlawfully occupying a piece of government property?"

  "That so, huh?" Cowboy countered. "When a zombie's trying to bite my hind end, the last thing I'm thinking of is which law I'm breaking."

  Red snickered. Even Fisher looked up at her and smiled his toothless grin.

  "You shot all these here zombies so you could arrest me and my family for unlawful squatting?" Cowboy readjusted his rifle. "You taking us to jail or somethin'?"

  "We have no plans to arrest anyone or remove you from the property. But since we're performing a government service, we ask that you let us in to replenish our supplies, rest our horses, and check out the telegraph system we know is employed inside."

  "Mighty fancy talk you got there," Cowboy said. "So exactly what government service are you folks performing? Since most of the country has gone to hell with this outbreak, I assumed our government had, too."

  "No, sir. We're trying to uphold whatever bit of civility we can, though it's been an uphill battle. We here consist of two U.S. Marshals, three Cavalry soldiers, a lieutenant, and a doctor."

  "Sounds mighty impressive, but what's to stop you from taking everything we've got, hurting our women and children, or killing the lot of us once you get inside?"

  "That's not what we're after. We also only ask for a night of rest within the walls of the fort, and whatever provisions you might have to spare. If nothing else, we just want access to the telegraph system."

  Telegraph? Red scanned the fort and, sure enough, thin lines rising out over the stone walls came into view. A sense of optimism surged through her veins at the sight.

  "Well, I can tell ya right now, it don't work," Cowboy said. "We've sent several messages out over the line ourselves and received no response."

  As quickly as her optimism had risen, it plummeted. Of course it didn't work. That was the kind of world they lived in now—full of disappointment.

  "We'd still like the opportunity to try," the man persisted. "We've taken care of your infestation problem, and the least you could do is give us that."

  "Actually, you've made a big mess for us to clean up. We were doin' a'right before you came. Now we have to pile up those bodies and burn them before it stinks up the place."

  "We'll take care of that for you—"

  "Tell ya what," Cowboy interrupted. "We'll toss some bags of food down to you, and you can supply us with your names. I will personally see to it that your messages are sent over the wire. That's about all I can offer."

  "I guess we'll have to settle for that. Biscuits, jerky and hard tack would be much appreciated. Whatever you can spare. As for our names, you need paper to write it down or something?"

  "Nah." Cowboy pointed to his head. "I've got a real good memory. My partner here will help me remember."

  Red couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Sometimes she couldn't interpret his motives.

  "We'd be grateful if you could send a message to the officials in charge and let them know our status. But I think I speak for the entire group when I say the message we most desire to send out is to our families. We're planning to head north to the camps in the Dakotas. If they receive the message, hopefully they can find us there."

  Cowboy nodded. "Understandable. Go on with your names. I'll make sure the message gets out, but can't guarantee it'll be received. It's a long shot."

  "A long shot is better than no shot at all." The man paused before offering up their names.

  Red continued to watch Cowboy, who leaned on his rifle in silence.

  "Cooper Randolf, Brigham Waldron, Hank Rodgers, Mark Hunter, Davis Story, Owen Wallace, and John Gatherum."

  Red's hands began to shake. She recognized two of the seven names given.

  One—the man who'd nearly killed her.

  The other—her brother.

  Chapter 24 – Don't Let Go

  Trace took one look at Red and braced himself.

  John Gatherum. Damn. Not good.

  She teetered from side to side, fidgeting with her hands and glancing from one set of gates to the other. She was planning something, all right.

  Just as he feared, she bolted for the east gates.

  Damn it. Trace grabbed the sides of the ladder and slid down the rails without using a single rung. He caught up with her and clasped a firm hand over her mouth before she uttered any words. He risked getting bitten again, but hoped she'd stick to their compromise. Stick to the slap.

  "Pull in your horns!" He pulled her wriggling body close to him and tightened his grip. "You're gonna get us all killed!"

  She tossed her head back and arched her body in an effort to weaken his grip, but Trace anticipated her movements. She might've proved more of a challenge if she were healthy, but in her weakened state, she was completely harmless.

  "You're hurting her!" Rivers cried. She tried to pull free from Caroline to come to Red's aid, but Caroline held her back.

  "I'm doing this for her own good." That was all Trace offered by way of an explanation. "You have to trust me. All of you. Caroline, Wen, you two take Rivers and fill some burlap bags with supplies." He moved backward as he gave orders, dragging a defiant Red along with him. "Don't give them too much. Just enough. Then send them on their way."

  Red continued to put up a fight, bucking and twisting, but he managed to carry her to her room. He deposited her on the bed with an unforgiving thud, but she sprung from the mattress like a cat in a water barrel. Trace grabbed her around the waist, threw her on the bed, and pinned her down with the length of his body. Her eyes bore into him.

  "Shush." He whispered into her ear. "Settle down. This ain't the time to go out there shooting your guns. You're sick. You're weak. Think of Rivers and what it might do to her, to all of us."

  She continued to wriggle under his weight.

  He focused on her angry green eyes, trying to get through to her. "Come on, Red, if you kill John Gatherum with all his men watching, we'll have a mini war on our hands."

  She shook her head and tried to force his hand from her mouth, but Trace refused to let go. He'd do what he must to ensure everyone's safety, including hers.

  "I know you want to kill him. I get that. Hell, when I heard his name, I just about shot him myself. But Red, this ain't the time. We're in this together—you, me, Wen, Caroline, the kids, Ira. Even the smelly dog. We're a family here." He stared at her with a solemn expression and swallowed hard. "You guys are pretty much the only family I've ever known and... I don't want to lose any of you."

  Red settled down some, but Trace didn't trust her enough to remove his hand. The door was closed and the walls were thick, but who knew how far her voice would carry.


  "Do ya understand what I'm saying?"

  She blinked her eyes and mumbled something under his hand. He took that as a yes.

  "I need you"—he paused, his eyes tracking hers—"to trust me."

  Red stopped struggling and her body relaxed beneath him. Her chest rose against his and the heat from her body seeped through her clothes. She appeared to have calmed down, and he could've removed his hands and let her go, but he needed to tell her one more thing. Might not be the best time, but it was the only time he had.

  Trace leaned in close and took the biggest gamble of his life. "I'm fallin' for ya. I'm fallin' real hard."

  He kept his hand clamped tight over her mouth, not quite ready for her response.

  She blinked several times, watching him from behind her long lashes. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and traveled the length of her cheek, dripping onto his hand.

  "I don't want to lose you." His own eyes began to well, but he refused to let the tears fall. "I'm pleading with ya not to go after him. Not yet. Stay here with me. With us."

  As much as he would've liked to keep his hand over her mouth forever to avoid the possibility of being crushed, there was only one way to find out how she felt about him. He peeled his hand back from her mouth and waited.

  Wen barged through the door. "They're gone. It's safe to—" He looked from one to the other before casting his gaze down at the ground. "I guess I'm interrupting, aren't I?"

  "Get off me!" Red wiggled and began to buck all over again.

  "Whoa! Wait till I leave." Wen started to shut the door.

  "It's not like that." Trace shot a glare at Wen before turning his attention back to Red. "Knock it off, will ya! Settle down and I'll let ya go."

  She whipped her head on the pillow and looked at Wen. "They're gone? Since when?"

  He shrugged. "They went up over the ridge about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago."

  "I need to borrow a horse."

  Trace couldn't believe his ears. He'd risked everything and told her how he felt, begging her to stay with him and give up the pursuit of a crazy man who nearly killed her, but she wanted to go anyway. Her answer couldn't have been clearer.

  He climbed off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. "You can take mine."

  Red gathered her skirts, scooted past him, and stood. She walked over to Wen. "I need supplies—food, water, bedding, guns. I need your help."

  Wen cast his eyes to Trace in search of direction. Trace only shrugged.

  "But you're not well." Wen tried to protest.

  "Doesn't matter. I don't have a choice—"

  "That's not true." Trace stood and looked at her for a moment. "You have a choice. You're just making the wrong one."

  He pushed past her and walked out the door.

  ***

  Trace adjusted the straps under the belly of his horse to secure the saddle in place. He checked the saddlebags again—enough food to last about a week, but after that, she'd be on her own. He tucked a few bills into the pouch. If she was lucky enough to make it to a town, she'd need it. He had his doubts, but no sense arguing with Red once she'd made up her mind.

  He didn't plan to follow her, which she wouldn't want anyway. Her pig-headedness would get her killed, and he didn't want to be around when it did.

  "It's all clear." Wen entered the stables with Red following behind. "Nothing on the horizon except dust and a brewing storm."

  Trace noticed she'd given up the dress in favor of pants, a shirt, and a man's coat that drowned her with its dropping shoulder seam. The pants were also ill-fitting and tied about her waist with a bit of rope.

  Wen's eyes expressed concern; his emotions were always close to the surface.

  Red had likely picked up on it as well, but chose to ignore his fears. She ignored everyone.

  "Here's another blanket." Caroline handed the rolled wool bedding to Trace.

  He took it and secured it behind the saddle with the other one. Two blankets. With winter approaching, it wouldn't be enough. They all knew that, but a horse could only carry so much.

  "I don't want ya to go." Rivers threw her arms around Red and hugged her.

  Red winced with physical pain, though she must have suffered emotional pain as well. He could see it in her eyes.

  How does she plan to ride a horse for days on end if she can't even handle a child's embrace?

  "You need to find some sort of shelter by nightfall tomorrow." Trace avoided her eyes and rechecked her supplies once more. "Storm should be here by then. You don't want to be out in the open when it hits."

  With such little fat and muscle on her tiny frame, the winter storm would freeze her solid in a manner of minutes. He couldn't think about it, so instead he tugged on the saddle to make sure it sat firm on the horse's back.

  Red looped the reins over the horse's head, hooked it to the horn, and then grabbed onto the horse's thick mane for leverage. When she placed her foot in the stirrup to mount him, the horse neighed in protest and shifted his legs around. It was hard enough to mount a horse set against it, but add in Red's physical illness, and it became darn near impossible.

  "Here, let me." Wen moved to help her, but Trace shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks.

  "Don't help her," Trace said. "If she's gonna do this, she needs to get on the horse herself."

  Red pressed her face against the horse's neck and tried to calm him. She put her booted foot back in the stirrup and managed to pull herself up halfway, straining to get into the saddle as the horse shifted his weight and neighed his displeasure.

  Trace hated watching her lose the battle, but he refused to help—she wasn't the only stubborn person in the barn.

  When her hands slipped, instinct kicked in and he caught her in his arms. No matter how angry, he'd never let her hit the floor.

  "Is revenge worth all this?" He continued to hold her. "Is it? Come on, Red, don't do this."

  "I'm not doing this because of John Gatherum." She pushed herself up out of his arms and stood in front of him with tears running down her cheeks. "I'm doing this for my brother."

  Trace didn't know what to make out of that. "What?"

  "Davis Story." She choked on her words. "He's in that group of men and he's my brother—my brother." The tears fell faster. "He's alive and he's with that evil man. I have to go"—she grabbed the horse's mane again—"I have to stop him."

  The horse protested again—neighing, stomping, and shaking his head.

  "What's wrong with your horse?" she asked.

  Trace wondered the same thing himself. He'd never seen him act that way before, but he sure as hell didn't plan to stop him. The more problems the horse caused, the better.

  Davis Story. It hadn't dawned on him that Red and Davis Story could be related. He knew Red's name—he'd seen it on the wanted poster—but it never even entered his mind.

  Her third failed attempt to mount the horse nearly broke Trace's heart, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Red, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  She slumped against him and buried her head in his chest, sobbing.

  He placed his hand on the back of her head. "It's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. We'll find him, we will. But you've got to get healthy first. You're not gonna do him any favors going after him in this condition. You'll likely get him killed, along with yourself."

  Her red curls bounced with the movement of her head. Trace couldn't believe it—she was actually agreeing with him. He held her a little tighter as she pressed her hands against his back, clinging to him.

  Don't let go, he wanted to tell her, but he found contentment in just holding her, grateful she'd finally come to her senses. Watching her go would've been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

  ***

  A fire crackled in the stone fireplace and cast the room in an orange glow. Snow silently fell in cotton clumps outside the window. Trace added another log to the fire and stirred the embers before slipping off hi
s clothes and climbing into bed. He shivered against the coolness of the blankets and vowed to place a warming brick under the covers the next night to take away the chill.

  Red had decided to stay, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. Trace knew someday, when she was well enough, she'd leave. She'd go after her brother and save him. Everything else was just temporary for her, unless he could find a way to convince her otherwise.

  A soft knock at the door caused him to sit up, but before he could call out, the knob turned and the door opened just enough to allow a wispy figure to enter.

  She quickly shut it behind her to keep out the cold, and leaned back against the wooden wall. Downy crystals glistened in her hair, catching the light of the fire before melting away. Tiny droplets fell from her curls onto her thinly covered shoulders, and he caught sight of goose bumps rippling across her skin.

  He lifted the edge of his blankets for her, but she held up her hand. They watched one another from positions on opposite sides of the room.

  "I'm falling for you, too." Red broke the stillness that had settled over the room.

  Trace pulled himself into a sitting position. She'd said exactly what he wanted to hear, but something in her eyes and the way she held herself kept Trace from going to her.

  "I'm scared." She bit her lip and hugged herself. "Loving you scares me."

  Trace stood but didn't approach her. "Maybe we're supposed to be scared. Maybe it's just a part of loving someone."

  "I'm afraid of losing you, too."

  Trace took a step toward her. "I'm afraid of the same thing."

  She reached up and pushed the damp curls out of her eyes, her lip trembling. "So what do we do?"

  Trace took another step toward her, close enough now to touch her cheek, but he held back. "We hold onto each other for as long as we can." He wanted to pull her into his arms, but she needed to be the one to make the first move.

  She blinked several times and then slowly released her breath in a satisfied sigh. "Okay."

  "Okay?" He moved closer.

  She smiled and touched his face, sliding the tips of her fingers along his jaw line. "Yeah," she said, her voice slightly above a whisper.