by Greg Dragon
“Wyatt?” Abigail stood up and leaned over her brother. His eyes were still closed and his skin had taken on a cold, gray pallor. “Wyatt?” she whispered as her hand hovered near his shoulder, but she couldn’t work up the courage to actually touch him.
His eyes popped open. Abby slapped her hand to her mouth as the sliver of hope in her chest flared to life. She reached for him, ready to grab her brother up in the biggest hug she could manage. Then she saw his eyes, those dull, dead eyes. Her heart lodged in her throat. She stumbled backward. Her foot caught on the chair right behind her and she fell head over heels. Her warning shout came out in an incomprehensible burst of air as she hit the ground hard.
“Wyatt!” Eva’s joyful shout echoed off the walls. She leaned over Wyatt as Connor pushed himself away from the wall. Abby’s reaction set his alarm bells blaring and his hand flew toward his gun. It was halfway from its holster when the young man on the table grabbed at the nurse.
“Wyatt,” she breathed with relief as she reached forward to touch his face. Her relief quickly turned into a blood curdling scream as he yanked her to him and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck.
“Get him off her!” Doc Whitman screamed at no one in particular. He raced forward and grabbed a handful of the boy’s shirt. He jerked the smaller man backward away from the nurse. Wyatt snarled at the intruder. He spun around and shoved the doctor with all the strength he could muster. Doc Whitman flew backward and smashed into the wall with a crack.
Eva was scrambling away from the table, but Wyatt spun and launched himself at her again. His teeth sank into her shoulder as their bodies collided. They went down together in a screaming, snarling mass of limbs and blood. Eva’s head smashed against the corner of the table, sending a shower of blood across the floor. She was silenced mid-scream. Wyatt landed on top of her and tore a chunk of flesh from her shoulder. He looked up at Connor with blood dripping down his chin as he calmly munched on his meal.
The sheriff’s hand wobbled as he pointed the gun at the boy. His finger twitched on the trigger, but he couldn’t force himself to pull it back. It took him three tries to put enough pressure on it. The gun finally went off when Wyatt leaned down for another bite. It tore through his side.
A pained growl escaped around the lump of Eva’s neck he still had in his mouth. He turned his head slowly and stared at the gun, then he dropped the meat and leapt at Connor’s hand. The gun barked loudly. Wyatt tumbled from the air. He landed on the ground with a hole in the middle of his forehead.
Abby was curled up in the corner with her arms over her head and Doc Whitman lay groaning on the ground as Connor stepped over the boy’s body. His fiancée was sprawled on the floor beside him. Her head was turned at an impossible angle and her eyes were wide and lifeless. Blood pooled underneath her, pouring from the holes Wyatt had torn in her flesh.
“Oh God, Eva.” Doc Whitman’s breathless whisper came from behind Connor. The sheriff watched as the doctor crawled across the floor to kneel beside the young woman. He lifted her wrist and checked her pulse, but they both knew it was unnecessary.
“Connor!” Amos burst through the door to the house with his gun drawn. Several armed men flowed in behind him.
He ignored them all and raised his Peacemaker. He pointed it at the girl with a hand that had finally steadied. He fired once, twice. Both shots hit her right between the eyes.
Abigail screamed. A matching scream echoed down from upstairs. “Connor!” Amos shouted again, even as Doc Whitman yelled. “What the hell, Connor? She was dead!”
The doctor fell beside his nurse and stroked her face. Connor looked back at Wyatt’s still form. “So was he,” he said. It was an effort to talk. Every part of him felt like it was made of stone. Even breathing was a chore. When he moved, it was in slow motion. He wondered briefly if he was dreaming, or possibly drowning.
A flicker of movement caught his eye and he raised his pistol as he turned. Abby was standing in the corner. “Were you bit?”
She shook her head fiercely and stared at him with eyes as wide as wagon wheels. “No.” Her voice was a soft, strangled whisper.
Connor’s eyes narrowed at her. He let them stray up and down her body. “Turn around,” he demanded and gestured with his pistol.
She did as she was told. The only blood on her was the blood she had come in with. He nodded his head toward the stairs. “Go check on Hannah. Get her and come right back down.”
Abby pushed away from the wall and scampered out the door. She took the long way around the table to avoid both Connor and the fallen bodies. As she pounded up the stairs, Amos walked up beside him.
“Holy hell, Connor,” he said as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. He had forgotten his hat in his rush to take care of the horses. He still had his gun out and held it in a shaky hand. “What the hell happened?”
Connor blinked once, twice. Then he glanced at Doc Whitman. The man was leaning against the table with his head in his hands. There was no blood on him that Connor could see. The other men stood near the door, confused and afraid.
The sheriff holstered his gun and walked over to the chair Abby had tripped over. He set it upright and swung a leg over to settle in it backwards. He leaned an arm on the back and rested his head in his hand. His entire body shook. “I don’t know, Amos. I don’t fucking know.”
***
Abigail Crawford raced up the stairs, desperate to get away from the carnage in the room below. Her little brother, the boy she had always adored and cared for, had turned into one of the things that had killed her father, mother, and older sister. He had attacked Eva, his wife-to-be, just like those creatures had. Abby had looked in Wyatt’s eyes. They were dull, lifeless. They were not the vibrant eyes of her brother, always laughing, always looking for mischief and full of love for his family and Eva. They were the eyes of a mad beast, looking for only destruction and blood.
There were two rooms at the top of the stairs, one door on either side. The one on the right was wide open. Inside was a small bed, a dresser, and a night stand. Nothing more. The door on the left was closed. Soft whimpers escaped under the door. Abby went into the room on the right and sank onto the bed. She glanced behind her. On the night stand were two pictures. In the first one, a young Eva stood smiling with her mother. In the other, taken just a few months before at a social, Eva and Wyatt grinned like newlyweds, even though the wedding was still months off.
Abby’s heart wrenched in her chest. She had known Eva since the nurse was a little girl. She had been close friends with her older sister before Rachel married and moved back east. Abby had been overjoyed when Wyatt and Eva were finally engaged.
The young woman doubled over and covered her face with her hands. Her breath caught in her throat and she struggled to breathe. Her chest hurt. For a terrified moment, she feared she was turning into one of those vile creatures, but no, it was pain of a different kind. It was the pain of intense loss. Her heart was breaking over the deaths of so many people so close to her. She was wounded, even though her scars would be deep inside, invisible to everyone but her.
Tears welled up and poured down her face, bearing some of the pain away with them. She sat there on the bed of her dead friend for several minutes, taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself. It would do no good to let Hannah see her like that. Hannah needed her to be strong. Hannah needed her to be a rock.
***
Hannah Crawford cowered in the corner of the doctor’s bedroom, between the dresser and the wall, with a shaving razor clenched tightly in her hands. She’d heard the screams, she’d heard the gunshots. She had lost her mind for a moment and let her screams, her fear, mingle with the shouts downstairs. Then she snapped her lips shut. If those creatures found them, if they killed the sheriff and Abby and the doctor, they would come looking for her next. She would not go out like that. She refused. Her family thought her weak, she knew that. She was young and quiet and thoughtful, but she wasn’t stupid. Pa had tau
ght her privately how to shoot. She was better than Abby, though neither of them would ever tell her older sister. She had also practiced with knives in the barn. She preferred them over the loud, ungainly guns. With a knife, she could hit a spot the size of a silver dollar from halfway across the barn nearly every time. She wasn’t weak. She was a survivor, and she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
When the door opened, she leapt to her feet and drew back the razor blade. She nearly threw it, until she saw Abby’s dark hair and tear-stained face standing in the doorway.
“Hannah?” Abby’s eyes were wide as she stared at her little sister.
Hannah took a step forward. “Wyatt?” she whispered. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it out loud.
Abby was silent for a moment as she looked from Hannah’s face to her hands and back again. Hannah glanced down. She still held the razor blade, open and pointed right at Abby. She snapped it shut and tucked it into her pocket. Abby ran the few steps to cross the room and bundled Hannah into her arms. She stroked her younger sister’s hair.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah. I’m so sorry.”
The two girls allowed the grief to wash over them and tears rolled down both of their faces.
“Wyatt,” Hannah whispered again, but this time it wasn’t a question.
Abby nodded. “And Eva.”
Hannah pulled back and stared at Abby. “Eva?”
Abby took her hand and led her to the bed. They sat down. “He turned into... one of those things. Those things that attacked Ma and Pa and Maddy. He...”
Hannah’s shoulders hitched as a sob broke from her chest. It was the pain of loss and anger and fear all bundled into one. She looked at her older sister with watery eyes. “Those things are still out there, Abby.”
“I know.” Abby’s shoulders slumped.
“They could follow our trail.”
Abby’s lips pressed together in a tight line and she nodded again.
“They could come here. They could come to town.” She reached her hand into her pocket and gripped the razor blade tightly.
Chapter 18
“Come on, you lazy dogs, we need to go. We’re burning daylight.” Jed’s voice echoed off the surrounding hills. The horses were tied up in front of the porch and he grabbed Saddle’s reins and swung himself up with practiced ease.
Jeremiah slammed the door open and clomped down the steps toward Nellie. Jasper followed more slowly, buckling his belt as he walked.
“Quit yer moanin’, Jas. It’s just a test run.” Jeremiah clapped him on the shoulder before he hopped up on his horse.
“Yeah...” Jasper wanted to protest Jed’s new plan, but his oldest brother was glaring at him with that look that would melt gold. He bit his tongue and climbed onto Dynamite.
The trio rode out of the little valley, heading in the direction of Lonesome Ridge. A stony silence settled over Jed and Jasper, but Jeremiah was heedless of their sour moods. He jabbered away as the horses plodded along, regaling them with stories of his latest adventures in the saloon.
“So, I says to Cora, I says—“
A figure stepped out from the woods on the side of the path they followed. Jeremiah stopped midsentence as Jed pulled up beside him. It was a woman with long, flowing black hair. She stood in the very middle of the thin dirt road, blocking their way around.
“Who is that?” Jed glanced sideways at Jeremiah. Jeremiah was leaning on the saddle horn as he eyed the woman.
“Dunno. Looks like some injun.” Jeremiah placed a hand on the pistol at his side as he glanced at the hills around them. “I don’t see no more, but they sneaky. Don’t trust her.”
She remained motionless in front of them with her hands clenched in fists at her sides. Her head was angled down, so that her long hair hid her face from view. Her hide dress was ragged and dirty, covered with unidentifiable brown stains, and her lower legs were crisscrossed with wounds.
Jed pushed his horse forward a few steps until he was several feet away from the woman. He yanked his gun from its holster and pointed it at her. “Hey, you. Yer in our way. You gonna move anytime soon?”
The woman didn’t flinch.
“You,” he said, waving his gun in Jeremiah’s direction. “Go see what she wants.”
Jeremiah looked at him and snorted. “Hell no. She’s crazy lookin’. You do it.”
Jed grunted. “Jasper, go,” he said as he waved his pistol toward the woman.
Jeremiah glanced at Jasper, then back to the woman. He gave an exaggerated sigh and swung his leg over his horse. “I’ll do it,” he said even as Jasper began to rise from his saddle.
Jed shot him a glare and his eyes darted suspiciously between the two men, but he kept his mouth shut.
Jeremiah jumped to the ground and readjusted his belt. “Hey, you all right?” he called across the open space between them.
No response.
Jed sighed. “Go up to her, ya idjit. Maybe she’s deaf.”
Jeremiah held up his hands. “Aright, aright. I’m goin’.” He hesitated next to his horse, messing with a strap on his pack until Jed cleared his throat. Jeremiah frowned and grunted, then he squared his shoulders and walked slowly toward the girl. She still wasn’t moving and an uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Somethin’ ain’t right here,” he grumbled under his breath as his hand found his weapon. He rested his fingers on the grip and they itched to draw it. But he was afraid to spook her and kept his instincts in check.
He was just a couple feet away from her when the wind shifted and blew her hair away from her face.
“Holy shit!” He stepped back, appalled at the sight in front of him, but his boot caught on a rock and he landed hard on his behind. His heart pounded in his throat as he stared at the girl.
Her brown skin had an ashen tone to it. Her face was dull gray and splotchy. But what drew his attention, what set his heart racing and threw his stomach into fits, was the large chunk of flesh missing from her chest, just below her neck where her dress formed a vee. The muscles visible in the gap were gray and rotten. The stench of death wafted over him in the light breeze and sent his gag reflex into overdrive.
She raised her eyes to him. Her appearance activated his flight instinct, but what he saw behind those eyes made him freeze in his tracks. They were the eyes of the most dangerous predator, deep and hungry. She didn’t see him. She saw food, she saw fun. Her lips pulled back into a snarling grin as she looked him over. His body began to shake. He felt his joints grow weak. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t force his limbs to work. He just stared at her, locked in her trance. Until she moved.
She darted toward him like a cat going after a mouse. He shouted and tried to scramble back, but she reached him before he could get to his feet. Jed and Jasper shouted behind him, but he couldn’t understand their words. She was on him, tearing at him, snarling and spitting like a rabid coyote. He threw up his arm to protect himself and her teeth sank into his wrist.
“Shoot her!” He screamed at his brothers even as he kicked at the woman on top of him. His foot connected with her knee. Her heard a crack and she screamed as she rolled off of him. Shots echoed out. He tumbled away from her, scrambling in the opposite direction she did.
He climbed to his feet and grabbed for his pistol. She was already up and spun to face him. She stared at him for the briefest second as he pointed the gun in her face. Then she screamed again, a loud, high animal cry. She ran. He fired. The woman jerked twice as his bullets hit their mark, but she did not fall. She disappeared into the woods.
“Should we follow her?” Jasper was standing up in his saddle, ready to jump to the ground. His horse danced beneath him.
“No, stay there!” Jeremiah held a hand up to stop his brother as they watched her go. He staggered to his horse and leaned against it. “Did you hit her?”
Jed grunted. “At least once. And Jasper hit her, too. She should
have been a bloody mess.”
Jeremiah looked at his brothers. They were both pale and their gun hands were shaking. He tucked his pistol back into its holster and stuck his foot into the stirrup. It took him three tries to get into his saddle.
“You all right?” Jed was looking at his arm.
Jeremiah glanced down. Blood was dripping onto his horse. “Shit.” He ripped a piece from his shirt and wrapped it around the wound. “Dumb bitch.” He flexed his fingers. “I dunno. I think she broke somethin’.”
“Maybe we should head into town and see the doc.”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I’m fine. I just need a stiff drink.”
Jed kicked his horse. It huffed and moved forward slowly, still shaken from the encounter. “Let’s hit the saloon. We’ll have Cora look at it.”
Jeremiah glanced into the woods. He thought he glimpsed a flash of brown between two trees, but it disappeared the next moment and he didn’t see it again. A shiver ran up his spine. He shook his head to clear it and spurred his horse into gear, trying to put the crazy woman out of his mind.
Chapter 19
Half an hour after they left the ranch, Charity regretted letting them eat all the horses. She plodded along behind the group with David on one side and Walton on the other. It was the most she had walked in months and she had no interest in continuing. She narrowed her eyes at the men and women in front of her. They shuffled forward without much thought for what they were doing, just going in the direction she told them to.
With a huff, Charity stopped walking and crossed her arms. David kept moving forward, heedless of her predicament, but Walton turned around and joined her. She smiled inside. Little Bear had trained him well.
“My queen?” Walton held his hat in his hands and fretted in front of her.
Charity pressed her lips together in a tight line and thought for a moment. She looked at the trees around them. “Walton,” she said. “I’m tired of walking. Build me a throne and have the strongest carry me.”
