Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West)

by Angela Scott

  "Damn," he said under his breath. If this was only the beginning of winter, he didn't look forward to the frigid months ahead.

  Caroline stood in her bedroom doorway with a blanket wrapped tightly around her and over the shoulders of Fisher and Rivers, who flanked her on either side. They all stared at the west tower.

  Trace couldn't see Red anywhere, but before he could ask after her, Wen yelled for him to get his hind end up the ladder.

  Five rungs into his climb, a realization hit him, and he paused. No moans floated over the stone walls, and no broken fingers clawed against the gates in an effort to get inside. Just silence. The zombies were a constant background noise—a distant, off-putting hum everyone had grown accustomed to. Without it, the silence grew thick and heavy.

  Wen's presence at the top of the tower should have sent the undead into a feeding frenzy, and knowing that, Trace climbed faster.

  "What's going on?" He pulled himself onto the wooden platform, and his friend's expression relayed more information than his words ever could.

  "It's Red." Wen lifted his hand and pointed below on the other side of the fort walls. "She's down there."

  Trace scrambled to the railing. Red outside the walls? Impossible.

  At first he didn't see her. The headless bodies littered the ground like a forest of hewn down trees. Mounds of zombie corpses were splayed in various directions with broken, mangled limbs. Decapitated heads stared upward with wide, milky eyes and jaws that hung from broken pivots in an eternal, silent moan. Thick, soupy blood poured from the necks of the severed bodies, merging into one giant lake of blackened red.

  The stench pierced his nostrils, and Trace covered his nose with the crook of his arm to diffuse it. He couldn't imagine Red down there among the diseased, in the midst of the gagging smell. Wen had to be wrong.

  "Where?" Trace scanned the bodies. His stomach constricted and balled up tight. He swept his eyes over the remains, and a different kind of fear began to tear at his soul. Why would she leave the fort and walk straight into a mob of undead?

  "There!" Wen pointed, and Trace followed the extension of his arm.

  No wonder he hadn't seen her before. She knelt on the ground amid the corpses, her thick locks matted and heavy with blood, obscuring her features. Her blood-soaked nightgown clung to her tiny frame like a second skin, as droplets ran down her arms and dripped from her elbows to pool at her side.

  Red looked up, as though sensing his gaze on her, and the whites of her eyes ignited from behind her bloodied bangs—moons in a darkened sky.

  "Red!" He pressed against the railing, baffled by what he was witnessing. What in the hell had happened? "We need to get her back inside the gates! We need to—"

  Wen placed his hand on Trace's shoulder. "How can we be sure it's safe? How do we know she's safe?"

  Trace shrugged Wen's hand away. "I'm not leaving her out there, so don't even suggest it."

  "No, it's just—" Wen shook his head. "Look at her. Look at them! Come on, Trace, what am I supposed to think?"

  Trace stepped face-to-face with Wen. "If it were Caroline, what would you do?"

  Wen matched Trace's stance. "Who do you think I'm trying to protect?"

  Friend and brother indeed.

  "I'm going out to get her." Trace narrowed his eyes, refusing to back down. "And I'm bringing her inside. If you have a problem with that, then you better lock the gates behind me, because I'm either bringing her in with me, or I'm not coming back at all."

  Without waiting for a response, he took hold of the ladder and started the climb down. He needed to get to Red, and had no time to argue with Wen.

  "Trace, come on." Wen shook his head. "I'm worried, is all. You can't blame me for trying to keep us all safe."

  Trace refused to look at him. "Do what you have to do, Wen. Just do it quick."

  ***

  Trace pushed the heavy gate open and stepped beyond the safety of the fort into the grizzly battlefield of rotting corpses.

  Damn, the smell is bad. It burned his nostrils and constricted his throat, which made it almost impossible for him to breathe. He pressed his nose into the crook of his arm.

  Careful not to step on a mangled body part or slip in the bloody mess, he stepped over the various remains. The coagulated zombie blood sucked at his boots, making each step difficult as he maneuvered through the maze of arms, legs, and torsos.

  Red just sat there with her head down, ignoring his approach. The sword, coated in so much blood the silver metal became lost, lay across her lap, and she clasped the handle with her sticky hands. The sun appeared over the eastern hills and cast a red glow across the sky, making the scene of slaughter appear even more gruesome.

  "Red?" Trace stepped over one body and sidestepped another to stand before her.

  She looked up, but said nothing.

  So many questions ran through his mind, but faced with her sad expression, this wasn't the time to ask them. Later. Definitely later.

  He knelt and reached out to push the matted hair from her face, then used his thumbs to wipe away the blood that coated her face. He only managed to smear it.

  "Are you hurt? Bit?"

  She shook her head.

  He took her ice cold hands in his. How long has she been out here in the freezing weather? He looked her over for signs of frostbite, but with her body so slick with blood, he couldn't tell.

  "Can you walk?"

  She nodded. "I'm fine. Just leave me here. Leave me with them."

  He slipped his arms under her, pulled her to his chest, and started the precarious journey back to the gates. She pressed her face into his neck and her tears warmed his skin. He would never leave her behind.

  As he approached the gates, he wondered what Wen had decided to do. If he'd bolted the gates into place, Trace would carry Red as far as he was physically able. He also knew if Wen had shut them out, they'd be doomed to death. With no food, freezing cold temperatures, and only the barest of clothing, it wouldn't take long. They would have perhaps a few hours before death.

  But the gate stood open, just as Trace had left it.

  He carried her inside and Wen stood ready to push the gate closed behind them. He exchanged a look with Wen, but neither of them voiced their concerns, both content to let it go for now.

  "She's not hurt or bit, but she's freezing." Trace carried her toward their room. "I need water. Lots of water."

  Caroline took off for the kitchen. The kids said nothing as they followed with shell-shocked eyes. Lasso growled and snipped at the air, but Fisher wrapped his arms around the dog's neck to hold him back.

  Trace kicked open the bedroom door with his foot and deposited Red on the hearth; the bricks were still warm and the fire continued to glow. He grabbed a blanket from their bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and tucked it in. He placed a few more logs on the fire and poked at the embers, enticing them to take hold of the fresh wood.

  Wen carried in the old galvanized tub and set it before the fireplace without looking at Red. He stepped aside when Caroline entered and dumped two large pails of steaming water into the metal bathtub. Without a word, she took off again to gather more.

  "I'll go help her," Wen said, and ducked out. He never came back.

  After two more trips and four buckets of water, Caroline had nearly filled the tub. "Here," she said, placing a scrub brush and a bar of lye soap on the table. "Use this. I'll bring more water as soon as it heats up."

  After the door closed behind her, Trace removed the blanket from Red's shoulders and eased her out of the ruined nightgown. There was no saving it, so he flung it into the fireplace and allowed the flames to consume it.

  He took her hands, led her shivering frame to the water, and helped her climb inside the tub. She retracted a little, the warm water stinging her chilled skin, but eventually lowered herself completely without a word of protest. Trace knelt beside her with the brush in one hand and the bar of soap in the other, and began to scrub her blood-cak
ed arms. He poured water over her shoulders to warm her, and as the water cooled, he called for Caroline to fetch another pail.

  The blood washed off her skin well enough, but her hair proved more difficult. He ran his fingers through her thick curls, scrubbing and detangling the knots as he worked the red mess from her locks. When he finished, he poured pitcher after pitcher over her head, which turned the bath water a translucent, murky pink.

  All the while, Red quietly stared into the flickering light of the fireplace, offering no resistance as Trace maneuvered her limp arms and legs. So many things plagued his mind, but now wasn't the time for questions. He resigned himself to the task of getting her clean—a rather large task, as it happened.

  Caroline brought in two more buckets of warm water and placed them beside Trace, then pulled out a fresh gown and undergarments from the wardrobe cupboard and set them on the bed.

  "Is there anything else I can do?" She draped a light blanket over a chair for Trace to use when Red climbed from the bath.

  "No." Trace gave her an appreciative smile. "You've done plenty. Thanks."

  Caroline shoved her hands in the pockets of her apron. "Just leave the bath water. I'll take care of it when you're done."

  Trace nodded and Caroline left the two of them alone. He took Red's hand and helped her to stand. He lifted the fresh pails of water Caroline had brought in and poured each of them, in turn, over Red's shoulders for a final rinse.

  "Here you go." He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her, gently patting her dry. "How does that feel?"

  "Fine."

  "You warming up some?"

  She nodded, although still shivering. He quickly dried her body and helped her into the clean clothes Caroline had laid out for her.

  "Let's get you into bed." Trace pulled back the blankets and waited for her to lie down. Without any argument, Red crawled between the covers and Trace tucked them in around her. "I'll go get more blankets and be right back."

  On his way out, he grabbed the first blanket he'd wrapped her in while she was still covered in blood, then the one he'd used to dry her with, and wadded them up. They'd have to be burned as well.

  He gathered two fresh blankets from the adjoining rooms and carried them back to Red. Caroline dipped pails into the tub to be carried outside and emptied. When he entered, she put her finger to her lips and motioned to the bed.

  Red slept in a fetal position, her chest rising and falling peacefully. He wanted to ask her so many things, but it appeared he would have to wait until later in the day.

  He shook out the first blanket and spread it over her, then did the same with the second. He brushed the damp curls from her forehead and smoothed them aside, and pressed his lips to her brow.

  Chapter 28 – A Line of Concern

  "Not one bite. Not even a scratch." Wen placed his hands on his waist and stared down at the ground. After a brief pause, he raised his eyes and stared Trace square in the eye. "How do you explain that?"

  Trace appeared just as dumbfounded as Wen—her skill, perhaps, although Red had only just learned to wield a sword. How could she have already developed the strength and expertise to destroy even a handful of walking dead, let alone decapitate over fifty in one go?

  They would have swarmed her, made it impossible for her to raise her arms and gather enough leverage to swing the heavy sword. The zombies should have taken her down within minutes of stepping outside the gates.

  Yet they hadn't.

  "She's not dangerous," Trace said. "If that's what you're afraid of."

  "She wasn't bit." Wen let his hands drop from his waist. "Something ain't right about that."

  "What the hell are you saying, Wen? You telling me it would've been better if she'd been bitten?"

  "No!" Wen shook his head, frustrated. "Damn it, Trace, open your eyes! Something's different with her."

  "Of course something's different with her! We've known that from the beginning—"

  "You know that's not what I'm talkin' about." Wen furrowed his brow.

  Trace stepped up to him. "What are you talking about? What're you saying exactly?"

  "Do you think I'd be standing here arguing with you if I knew exactly what was going on? I just know something's not quite right, whereas you're in some kind of denial."

  "Denial? Wen, this is Red we're talkin' about. She'd never do anything to hurt us. In fact, she's saved both our lives on more than one occasion."

  Wen pointed at the bolted gates. "She opened them, Trace! She got up in the night, removed the boards, and opened the gates knowing full well the uglies were on the other side. They could've slipped inside the fort and destroyed all of us. We were asleep and wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing to protect ourselves."

  It was a foolish move on Red's part. Trace wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation for her actions. Had she even considered the danger she'd placed them in? Maybe not, which was even more worrisome.

  He needed to talk to her, but until he wrapped his head around the situation, his questions would only lead her to believe he doubted her. Once he stepped over that line, it would prove difficult to regain her trust.

  "She's dangerous," Wen said. "Maybe not like the uglies, but she is. We can't afford to take chances with our lives, not with Caroline expecting a—" Wen paused and lifted his dark eyes to meet Trace's.

  "With Caroline expecting what?" In his gut, Trace already knew the answer.

  Wen swallowed, and Trace saw his eyes watering with emotion. "She's having a baby." There was no rejoicing or delight. Just fear. "She's pregnant."

  Trace released his breath, removed his hat, and clasped it to his midsection. No wonder his friend reacted the way he did. A baby. Damn. At a time such as this, a baby wasn't anything to celebrate.

  "We're gettin' low on food and supplies," Wen continued. "We only have a few months at best before we have to make some decisions, and I can't risk moving Caroline outside these walls. It just isn't safe." He slumped against the rock wall and stared at the dirt. "Red can't be taking chances like that. We can't afford it. Not now."

  "I'll talk to her." Trace placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't know why she did it. I don't even know how she did it. But after I talk with her, I'm sure she'll never do it again."

  A sense of despair and concern etched itself into Wen's features. "What're we gonna do? How we gonna get food and supplies? And how in the world are we gonna protect a baby?"

  "We'll find a way," Trace said, nodding. "We will. I promise."

  Caring for a baby couldn't be that much more difficult than caring for two kids and an infirm old man. Nonetheless, the prospect of a baby terrified Trace. Babies cried. Babies smelled. Babies would attract zombies en masse. The kids and the old man could at least fire guns. Babies were helpless and uncontrollable. The idea of that scared him the most.

  Nope, it wasn't a good time to bring a baby into the world, providing Caroline even made it to full term in the first place. A pregnant woman brought a whole different set of problems. They didn't need that kind of liability, but Trace didn't say as much.

  Instead, he gave Wen a firm pat on the shoulder before placing his hat back on his head. "It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be just fine."

  ***

  Red overheard them talking. She couldn't make out their exact words, but the tone of their conversation traveled easily through the walls. No doubt their argument had everything to do with her and what she'd done, because really, what else could it be?

  They wanted answers and they deserved them, but Red had none to give. The longer she lay there listening, the more she didn't want to talk at all. Not yet anyway.

  She slipped from the bed and noticed that, despite Trace's considerable efforts to clean her body of the zombie blood, she'd left hints of red and pink on the bed linens.

  The wardrobe stood empty except for a pair of pants, so she slipped them up and over her nightgown. It woul
d be another matter all together to find her one pair of boots. One stood stoically drying out near the fireplace, still stained with blood. The other had vanished somewhere in the chaos she'd caused.

  After checking around the room and coming up empty-handed, Red knelt next to the bed and reached into the darkness underneath. Her hand grazed the cracked leather, and as she clasped onto the boot to draw it out, the back of her hand brushed a set of papers tucked into the underside of the wooden frame of the bed she shared with Trace. Most likely a previous tenant had hid them, but curiosity got the better of her and she pulled the papers out.

  She walked over to the fireplace—one boot on, one bare foot—and could just make out the words printed on the crinkled papers. It shouldn't have surprised her to see her own picture staring back up at her, but it did. John was capable of anything. But the knowledge that the wanted posters belonged to Trace, and that he'd hidden them from her, pained her most.

  She kept looking at them—first one, then the other. The price on her head had increased dramatically with the second printing, doubling her worth. Then Red looked at the gold band on her finger and realized she'd been played for a fool once more.

  Trace was no better than John.

  ***

  "Any of you seen Red?" Trace stomped the freshly falling snow from his boots and brushed off his shoulders before stepping inside the kitchen.

  "Isn't she in your room, sleeping?" Caroline turned from the steaming kettle hanging over the flames of the fireplace. "I figured I'd just let her be. Give her some time after last night."

  "That's kind of you," he said. "But no, she wasn't there. I thought she might be here with you."

  "I saw her earlier." Rivers looked up from where she and Fisher sat kneading dough and patting it out into small cakes. "She sat on the edge of the bed all quiet. I asked her if she needed anything, but she just shook her head."

  Caroline struggled to her feet, and Trace went to her and offered his arm. Sure enough, a small belly bump pressed against her apron. How had he not noticed before? He hoped he wasn't the only man in the world oblivious to the most obvious of things.