by Greg Dragon
He pulled his gun from his holster as his deputy tried to manage the crowd. He held a hand out to the girl as he walked up the steps. “Dani...”
The young child raised her head, but kept chewing. Emma had stopped moaning. Bile rose in Connor’s throat. He would have to shoot the little girl. There was no way around it. He glanced back at the crowd. Some had heeded Jasper’s warnings, but most remained where they were.
A big bellow parted the crowd. Robert Zane stomped through with two large butcher’s knives in hand. “Din’t ya hear him? Get back to yer homes, ya idjits, afore ya get yerselves all killed.”
The people grumbled and moaned, but they scattered. Connor gave Robert a nod of thanks.
“Whoa, that’s not right. Is that baby Dani?” Robert peered at the little girl who couldn’t have been more than three.
“Yup.” Connor cocked his gun.
“Where’re ‘er folks?” Robert stepped up to the open door, but he gave the little girl a wide berth.
“Dunno.” Connor held the pistol out and pointed it carefully at Dani’s head.
As Robert stepped inside, he fired. Startled screams echoed from down the street. The little girl flopped on top of Emma Jones’s body and didn’t move. Connor cocked his gun and fired again to silence Emma permanently.
“Her ma’s in here. Don’t think she’s comin’ back. No sign of her pa, though.”
The big butcher was halfway out the door when Dani’s father threw himself down the stairs. Robert heard the man grunt and spun out of the way enough to avoid his teeth, but they went down in a heap on the walkway. The undead man snarled and snapped, trying to latch his teeth onto any part of the butcher he could. Robert was having none of it. He sliced and diced with the proficiency only a seasoned butcher could have. Chunks of the other man’s face fell away, then an arm, then his entire jaw, and soon he was just a pile of parts on the ground. Robert brought his biggest knife down heavily on the man’s head and split his skull clean open. The man finally gave up and joined his daughter in true death.
As Robert wiped his knives off, shots rang out further down the street. Jasper took off at a run, followed quickly by Robert. Connor checked the rest of the house before heading after them.
***
Doc Whitman grabbed his medical bag and hurried up the street toward the sounds of the gunshots. Cora was right on his heels. He gave her a quick glance, but didn’t bother telling her to go back to the jailhouse. They ran down the walkway, right toward the barber’s shop.
***
The end of town was a mess of bodies and blood by the time Connor, Jasper, and Robert arrived. People were screaming and fleeing in all directions in a panic. Hannah and Abby were in the middle of the street, surrounded by the entire Smith family. Abby had a rifle, but Hannah held a knife in each hand. The mother and two of the Smith daughters were already dead, two from gunshot wounds and the other from a hole in her head. The father, other daughter, and son still crept up on them.
Jasper raised his gun, but Connor grabbed his arm. “No, you might hit one of the girls.”
Robert roared and charged with his knives up. The father turned and tried to tackle him, but he took the man down as easily as he had Mr. Dinfield. With the creatures distracted, Abby took the chance to shoot the son in the head. The boy toppled to the ground in a heap. The daughter screamed and threw herself at Hannah, who was closest to her, but Hannah raised a knife, aimed, and let it fly. It sank deep into the girl’s eye socket. She tripped over her own feet and slid to a stop mere inches from Hannah’s boots.
“Everyone with a weapon, get in groups of three,” Connor shouted. “Search the town. Kill any of those creatures. Anyone who’s bit, come to the jail.”
***
Doc Whitman was running full speed past the barber shop when the window shattered beside him. It startled him so much, he tripped and stumbled sideways. The barber threw himself out of the window at the doctor and latched onto the man’s shoulder with his teeth. Cora screamed as the pair went down in a heap. The doctor tried to roll away, but the barber grabbed him and snapped down on the man’s throat.
Cora pulled up her skirts and yanked the small pepperbox from its hiding place on her upper thigh. She cocked the hammer and fired. It missed the barber and hit the doctor in the cheek. He slumped underneath the barber. Screams tore at Cora’s throat even as she cocked the gun again. The barber, realizing his prey was dead, turned toward the living flesh behind him. He hit her legs as her gun went off and she toppled to the ground. But she was a better shot than her brother and she fired, again and again, until the gun was empty and the barber stopped moving.
***
When all was said and done, seventeen people were dead, including those who had been turned the night before.
“You all right?” Connor asked as Cora helped him load the body of Doc Whitman into the wagon to be taken out of town. They were going to burn the bodies and leave symbolic grave sites. No one wanted to leave one of those things around where it could return.
“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Connor, my darling, I am perfectly all right. I’m just a bit shaken is all.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t push the issue. When he had returned from the edge of town, he had found her curled up against the wall, shaking, with her arms around her knees. The empty gun lay between the two dead bodies. He had wanted to check her for bites, but she was insistent that none of it was her blood.
At Connor’s command, the remaining residents were all moved closer to the center of town and heavy patrols were set up. Those who refused to move were given strict rules about how and when they could come into town. They had to be carrying a white flag, and no one was allowed to enter after the sun set. Everyone also had to be thoroughly checked for bites and meet the approval of the guards who were handpicked by Connor. All the undead had been mindless eating machines, as far as Connor could tell, so he figured anyone who was capable of creating and carrying a white flag would at least be still alive.
He left Jasper in charge of the patrols as he headed out of town with the wagon. Cora waved them off before she turned toward the doctor’s office. She gritted her teeth tightly as she walked across the street. Once she was inside, she shut and locked the door. She started a fire in the fireplace and put the kettle on to boil, then she grabbed a bunch of bandages and antiseptic. When the water was hot, she took the antiseptic, bandages and hot water upstairs to Eva’s old room.
She set the supplies on the dresser and pulled up her skirts. The bite looked almost as bad as it felt. With nerves of steel, Cora set to work cleaning out the wound.
Chapter 28
Jeremiah approached the caravan of undead from the back. He walked up to a woman shuffling along and fell into step beside her. “Howdy,” he said with a grin as he tipped his hat in her direction.
Her head cranked around slowly. She stared at him with dull, dead eyes for three full seconds before facing forward again and promptly ignoring him.
He scratched his head and shrugged. “A’right then.” He moved up next to the man in front of her. “Howdy,” he tried again. The man blinked at him twice, but continued shuffling forward without a word.
Jeremiah received the same response from everyone he tried talking to as he worked his way forward through the group. Finally, when he was almost up to the carriage, a young woman who was missing an arm responded in the form of a finger pointed at the carriage.
“Queen,” she hissed as she dropped her hand and continued walking.
Jeremiah tipped his hat to her. “Thank ya. Mighty kind o’ ya, miss.”
The woman went back to ignoring him altogether.
“A’righty then,” he grumbled. “Lovely group o’ folks here. So nice to meet y’all.” Jeremiah gave up trying to elicit conversation from those around him and trotted up to the carriage. He grabbed hold of the bar beside the door and swung himself up onto
the step as it rolled along.
“Anyone in there?” he called as he knocked on the window.
The curtain pulled aside to reveal a face that took his breath away. Even though her eyes were that same dull gray of all the others and were narrowed suspiciously at him, her beauty could not be masked. Her blond hair was pulled back to reveal her long slim neck, her lips were shaped perfectly, and he wondered briefly is she had ever considered a career as a saloon girl.
“Who are you?” Her voice was hard, not at all as soft as her features. “What do you want?”
The carriage hit a bump and jostled him on his precarious perch. His foot slipped and he swung halfway off the step. “Uh, do you mind if I come in there, miss? It’ll be a might bit better’n hanging around out here all day.” He grinned at her, hoping he looked charming and irresistible.
The woman’s eyes searched his face. For a tense moment, he feared she would turn him away, but then she said, “Very well. Come in.” She leaned forward and popped the latch on the door.
Jeremiah took the handle and yanked it open. He had to dangle further off the step to allow it to swing out all the way, but he managed to pull himself inside and jerk the door shut behind him. He plopped down on the seat opposite the woman and sighed.
He took his hat off and held it across his heart. “Nice to make your acquaintance, miss. My name’s Jeremiah. What might yours be?”
Her nostrils flared as she decided whether she really wanted to talk to him or not. “Charity,” she finally said. “Charity Banks... No, Thomas. Charity Thomas.”
He held out his hand and she took it. Her fingers felt nice cupped in his. “Pleasure to meet ya, Miss Thomas. It is miss, right?”
The corner of Charity’s lip twitched. “Yes,” she said. “It’s miss.”
They were both quiet for a moment as the carriage rolled along. “So where’re ya headed, miss?”
Charity leaned back in the seat with her hands clasped in front of her and stared at him. “Who turned you?”
Jeremiah debated whether to mention the fact that she avoided his question, but decided to let her have the upper hand for the time being. “Dunno.” He shrugged a shoulder and leaned back. As he set his hat on the seat beside him, he elaborated. “Some crazy Injun woman attacked me on the road the other day as I was headed to town. I shot her a couple times, but she didn’t die. Then I started to feel all sick and stuff, and now I’m like this. Like you. I sees all you people comin’ and decided I’d introduce myself and figure out what’s goin’ on, ‘cause it don’t make no sense to me.”
“Interesting. An Indian woman, you say?”
“Yup. Though I don’t see no Injuns in your group here.”
Charity smiled and crossed her hands in her lap. “So Jeremiah, where are you from?”
His eyes darted in the direction they were heading, but he nodded off to the left. “Out that’a way, miss. On a small ranch in the hills. Grew up there with my Ma and Pa and two brothers.”
Charity arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Two brothers? Are they still alive?”
Jeremiah hesitated. “One is,” he finally answered. “The other met an awful end at the hands of a pretty bad man.”
Charity’s eyes trailed down his face to his shirt. It was still stained despite his attempts to wash off the blood. “And did this happen fairly recently? When this ‘bad man’ attacked your brother?”
“Yes’m.” Jeremiah couldn’t meet her eyes. He was afraid of what he might see.
Charity leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. She clasped her hands and placed her chin on top of her knuckles. “And how did he taste?”
Jeremiah’s head jerked up. Her lips held a friendly smile. It was also a creepy smile that gave him the shivers. For the first time, he considered that joining up with this group might have not been the best idea. “Well, miss, to be honest, bits of him were delicious, but most of him was tough and, well, off. He wasn’t a nice man, neither, so I guess the end was fitting.”
Charity closed her eyes and she licked her lips. “I bet he tasted lovely.” Her voice had a dreamy quality and Jeremiah was sure she didn’t hear a word he said.
The carriage pulled to a stop as he was about to ask her about it. She sat up and looked at the door just as it opened. A man in a tattered Confederate uniform climbed in, followed by a young woman with long, matted black hair.
“You!” Jeremiah pointed at the woman even as he scooted across the bench to other side. He jerked his feet up and pressed himself into the corner of the carriage.
The man sank onto the seat next to Charity, leaving the only open place on Jeremiah’s bench. The Indian woman sat down and grinned at him like a crazy person who belonged in an institution.
“Jeremiah,” Charity said. “I’d like you to meet Walton and Summer Rain. You see, we do have an ‘Injun’ in our group. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that she was the one who attacked you.”
Jeremiah’s eyes darted between Summer Rain and Charity. Charity clearly found his reaction to the woman amusing and Summer Rain made no attempt to attack him again. He began to feel absolutely ridiculous cowering like a scared child. With a growl, Jeremiah shoved his feet off the bench and back to the floor. He sat up straight and clutched his hat in his hands. Then slowly, with a scowl plastered on his face, he forced his hand out and offered it to the black-haired girl.
Summer Rain took it and shook. The animal grin never left her face.
When their hands released, Jeremiah scooted a bit closer to the wall and leaned against it. “Someone wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here, maybe? I’m feelin’ a bit lost in the dark.”
Walton was the one who spoke. “My queen, we still have too far to go. We will not make it before the sun comes up and we cannot attack in the daylight.”
Jeremiah’s jaw twitched at the word ‘attack’, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Very well,” Charity responded. “Find us some shelter. We will wait until the night falls. “
Walton nodded and climbed from the carriage. Summer Rain hovered on the edge of her seat for a moment and looked as if she wanted to say something to Jeremiah, but then she followed Walton out into the morning light.
Charity waited until they were gone before she spoke again. “Walton is my...” She waved a hand around in the air while she searched for the right word. “Assistant, I guess you could say. He is the least stupid of the bunch and follows my commands well. He also speaks Summer Rain’s language. That’s very useful, since she speaks very little English.”
Jeremiah scooted himself back to the middle of the seat. “So where we headed? I’m gatherin’ that it’s probably Lonesome Ridge, since that’s the closest town an’ all.”
Charity allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, we are heading to Lonesome Ridge. You see, I’m building myself an army.”
“Is that why he called you a queen? You gonna make yourself a little country of your very own?”
“That’s the plan.” She tilted her head to the side. “You must call Lonesome Ridge your home if you live right around here.”
He bobbed his head slightly. “Yes’m. My Pa built a homestead out here when the town was just small. Grew up here.”
“So you know everyone in town, then.”
“Yes’m.”
“Is that going to be a problem for us?”
Jeremiah hesitated a moment. Jasper was there, and if he ran across his little brother, it was going to be a big problem. But then again, if Jeremiah wasn’t there, someone was going to go after Jasper anyway. “Not at all, miss.” He smiled a big brown smile.
Charity’s upper lip curled slightly at the smile. “Very well. You may be of some use, then. It would seem that you’re smarter than you look, so you might be able to help us find the town’s weak points.” The curled lip grew into a lovely white grin. “And if all goes to plan, who knows. A queen needs a king, doesn’t she?”
It took Jeremiah a few seconds to figure out her meaning. He
slapped his thigh when he finally got it. “Hell, yeah, she does.” He leaned back on the seat and thought about how great it would to be king.
Chapter 29
Becky Xavier was an eleven-year-old orphan who lived with her grandmother and grandfather in a small cluster of houses just outside of Lonesome Ridge. The little makeshift village was less than an hour’s walk to get into the bigger town, but it was far enough away from the bustle and the train tracks that they had peace and privacy in their own little world. Her house was the last on the little road, closest to town.
She was sitting on the porch in the fading light, rocking in her grandfather’s favorite chair, watching a hawk dance on the wind, when a cloud of dust billowed up further down the road. She stood up and leaned over the rail and stared at the dust cloud. A man stepped from the cloud near the edge of the village.
“Grandpa,” she called into the house. “You may want to come out here.”
She stood on the steps as more people materialized in the waning light. They moved along like a herd of cattle, slow but steady. When they reached the first of the houses, several of them broke away from the rest of the group and jumped onto the porch.
“Clear them out.” A woman’s harsh shout echoed off the buildings.
Screams exploded out from the house, followed by a single gunshot. The rest of the group kept moving and when they reached the next houses, the screams were louder and more frequent. Gunshots peppered the air, but they were few and far between. The inhabitants were being taken by surprise, unaware of the danger and unready to defend themselves.
Becky jumped and squealed as her grandfather grabbed her arm. “Go get Lightning,” he whispered. “Quickly now. Get to town and tell the sheriff.” He grabbed his rifle from its spot just inside the door and went out to meet a pale Indian woman who was walking up to their porch.
