by Jaxon Reed
The Walker turned back to the family. He towered over all of them. His blond hair hung down to his shoulders. On many alternates he could pass for a Viking, or any Northern European. That was without Cait to change his looks, if needed. But if he were indeed in the American Wild West, as he suspected, there would be no need to alter his appearance here. It was too late for that, anyway.
He addressed the woman and said, “Do you know what’s going on out there?”
She nodded, and said, “Ever since a star fell into Indian territory a few weeks ago, they’ve been acting funny. Now their dead walk among us.”
A low, guttural growl accompanied shuffling footsteps on the porch, as if agreeing with her.
“Is it like this every night?”
The woman said. “Pretty much. They can be active in the daytime, too.”
He glanced down at the gold band on her finger. He said, “And your husband?”
She twisted the ring nervously and said, “They got him a few days ago.”
A low groan drifted in from outside. The steps to the front porch squeaked, then a slow, scuffling sound came from outside the walls.
They heard a thumping at the door as dead flesh pounded slowly on the wood.
The younger boy trembled and hugged his mother tighter. The older boy walked over and picked up a rifle propped up in one corner. He cocked it, working the lever action, and aimed it at the door.
Jason said, “Have they ever made it in?”
The oldest boy said, “Just when they got Pa. He tried to fight ’em off the porch, but they got him. We managed to push ’em out and shut the door again.”
The scuffling continued around the front door. Soon the steps creaked again and several more dead feet shambled around the planks. Hands slapped against the boarded windows and moans drifted through the door.
Jason said, “This is maddening. How do you sleep?”
The woman shrugged. She said, “During the day, mostly. They’re less active in daytime.”
Jason looked over the rifle the boy held. He said, “Have you tried to thin the herd?”
The boy nodded and said, “Yes, sir. But they’re hard to kill. They don’t go down easy. And they stay alive when they do go down. Pa shot a bunch of ’em that first night when they dragged him away.”
Jason said, “You’ve got to aim for the head. That’s the only way to take a zombie out.”
The woman said, “You know these things? You know what they are?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen some in my time. Read about them, too. How much ammo do you have?”
The boy pointed at the table, where a six-shooter and several boxes of ammunition were spread out like a buffet. Jason walked over and picked up the revolver. He opened the cylinder and spun it before shutting it again.
Jason pointed his chin at the rifle the boy held and said, “Both guns shoot the same caliber?”
The boy nodded.
Jason said, “Alright. I’m going to take out the ones on the porch.”
The woman gasped and the younger son tightened his grip around her waist again. Jason walked swiftly to the door and removed the wooden beam barring the way. He opened it and stepped out with the gun.
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
He stepped back inside and barred the door behind him. He walked over to the table, opened the cylinder, ejected the spent shells and reloaded.
“Well, that’s six down. Let’s hope the noise doesn’t bring any more.”
The boys and their mother stared at him. The younger boy’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. Jason looked into the woman’s eyes and he could see her exhaustion and stress staring back at him.
“I tell you what,” he said. “You people get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep an eye on things.”
He spun the cylinder again and slammed it home with a loud Click!
-+-
Back at Headquarters, Nancy leaned away from the screen.
She said, “Looks like Jason’s got the situation under control there.”
Toya pointed at another screen. She said, “Oh, look! I’m getting some more data on your man Rick. Cait must be getting closer to going fully online over there.”
“Wonderful!” Nancy grinned and clapped her hands together. “Can you get a visual?”
“Hold on . . . yeah, here we go.”
-+-
“Alrighty then. Here’s the plan.”
MacGraw towered over the other dozen men and women dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns.
“Ah have sent non-essentials home. Even mah lovely wife and daughter are on a plane bound for Houston as we speak.”
Everyone nodded. Rick glanced around at the small crowd and noted most present were on the younger side of 30, except for the ambassador. Everyone seemed fit and in shape. He suspected they were all OSS agents.
“We have good reason to believe that the Nazis plan on blowing up their embassy tonight. We received a solid tip from Mr. Strickland here . . .”
MacGraw nodded at Rick. Everyone turned to look at him and he nodded back.
“. . . And our own intelligence sources have backed that up. Them Nazis is planning something tonight. And Ah would not put it past them to pull a stunt like that. Unfortunately, we can’t just call the whole thing off. Can’t not show up, either. So, we are going in and y’all are to mingle. But keep an eye out on what them Nazis are doing. If they disappear all of a sudden . . . if they fade away sometime during the night . . . that’s when we need to evacuate. Even if it creates an international incident.
“In the meantime, be on the lookout for where they hid the bomb. Or bombs. We’re looking for enough TNT to level the place.”
MacGraw turned and stared at each person square in the eye. They all returned his gaze evenly.
“Alrighty. Everybody armed?”
The men held open tuxedo jackets, revealing holstered pistols. The women opened purses, showing their own weapons. Rick noted that nobody had given him a gun. But, he did not feel like he needed one anyway. He knew guns were useless against fae.
“Good. Everybody got a mask?”
They all pulled out their costume ball masks and showed him. MacGraw nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Let’s go foil this Nazi plot and save the world!”
They filed out the front door of the embassy and into waiting limousines. Rick followed MacGraw and Angela to the first one. Baxter held the door open for them as they crawled in the back.
Baxter went around to the front, started the car, and turned down the circle driveway around the fountain with the horse statues. The gate opened for them, and Baxter took a left. He drove a short way to the next grand entrance down the road. This gate was festooned with swastikas. A Nazi guard bent down to speak with Baxter for a moment. He gave the passengers a glance, then waved them through.
Another guard directed traffic, sending them around a circle similar to the one at the Texas Embassy. Baxter pulled the limo to a stop in front of the main entrance and hurried to open the door as the second car pulled up behind them.
MacGraw walked up the steps to the front door. Angela hooked her arm in Rick’s and they followed right behind him. Others in the party paired up and followed them inside.
They stopped at the threshold of the door looking out upon the mansion’s great room. A small orchestra played something by Bach on a dais in the far corner. Servants drifted through the crowd with large platters overflowing with champagne flutes. Knots of people, men in tuxedos and women in elegant dresses, huddled in groups everywhere on the floor. Most wore masks of some sort: tigers, wolves, elephants, and a menagerie of other disguises. MacGraw pulled out a horse mask and placed it over his face.
Rick and Angela exchanged glances. He shrugged and pulled on his own ball mask: a lion. She reached into her purse and pulled out one resembling a raccoon and put it on her face.
Rick said, “Seems fitting. Raccoons are sneaky.”
Angela said, “Right? The rac
coon wears a mask. I’m wearing a raccoon mask. Hope I can steal some of the Germans’ fun tonight.”
They wandered out onto the floor following MacGraw. A manservant immediately approached them with champagne. They declined. After the pilots were poisoned, MacGraw decreed no one would eat or drink at German functions until further notice.
Rick looked around at all the people. He said, “Hard to tell who’s a Nazi with all the masks.”
“Formalwear for them has always been full uniforms,” MacGraw said. “But you’re right, there’s not many here.”
He pointed to one official-looking fellow wearing a gorilla mask in a tan uniform with a swastika armband. He seemed to be making the rounds, engaging in polite conversation with different groups of people. Other than that lone representative, there did not appear to be many other Nazis socializing.
Angela said, “I wonder if the safest thing might be to call in a fire or a bomb threat or something. Maybe they’d be forced to evacuate everybody.”
MacGraw said, “Not a bad idea, except it might convince them to detonate things early. More of the diplomatic community should be arriving over the next hour or so. If they’re gonna blow this place, we’ve got at least that much time. Now spread out, and look for anything that goes ‘boom.’”
Angela and Rick parted and wandered in different directions. Rick found himself following the manservant through a doorway leading to the kitchen. He poked his head in and found chefs preparing food and waitstaff pouring champagne from Methuselah bottles. He nodded politely behind his mask at those who looked at him and followed his nose into other parts of the embassy, but he could not discern any hiding spots for large amounts of TNT.
He opened the door to a room and found a woman in a raccoon mask staring back at him.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said.
Angela pulled her mask up. She said, “Find anything?”
“No, not really. Of course it could be hidden anywhere, I guess. We’d have to pull the place apart for a more thorough search.”
“We don’t have that much time.”
He nodded and followed her back out to the great room. More diplomatic guests appeared at the door, pulled on masks, and joined the crowd. Rick thought it must have doubled in the time they had spent in other parts of the mansion.
The door opened again and this time a telegram boy walked in. He wandered through the crowd singing out, “Telegram for Mr. Strickland! Telegram, Rick Strickland!”
Rick raised his hand, signaling the boy, who made a beeline for him across the floor.
The boy handed him a sealed envelope and said, “That’ll be five pence, sir!”
Rick flushed in embarrassment.
Angela said, “Oh, good grief. No clothes, no money. You are utterly helpless.” She opened her purse and gave the boy a coin.
“Thankee kindly, ma’am!”
The boy gave a jaunty salute and headed back to the door.
“Who would send you a telegram?” Angela said, forgetting about the money as her curiosity piqued.
Rick said, “About to find out.”
He ripped opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper, then read it out loud to her.
“‘Bomb in basement, stop. Nazis using boat on Thames to escape, stop. Get Ribbentrop, stop.”
Angela frowned and said, “Cait is able to send you telegrams now?”
Rick chuckled. “Normally she communicates directly, you know through neural implants. But, whatever works.”
Angela gave him an odd look. She said, “Okay. Well, let’s find a way down to the basement.”
-+-
They discovered a stairwell off the hallway on the opposite side of the great room from the kitchen. A lone Nazi guard stood at the doorway. No one else was in the hallway. Rick approached him smiling.
The guard said, “Was ist los?”
Rick said, “Der hund! Der hund ist los!”
He punched the guard in the stomach. When he doubled over, Rick slammed a fist down hard on the side of his head, knocking him out.
Rick reached down and retrieved the guard’s sidearm.
He said, “A Walther. Nice.”
He tucked it into his cummerbund.
Angela gave him a funny look. She said, “You told him, ‘The dog is happening.’ What’s that about?”
He smiled and said, “On my world it was an old joke we shared with the German POWs. You know, it sort of sounds like ‘the dog is loose.’” He shrugged and said, “I guess you had to be there, but we all thought it was hilarious.”
He held the door open for her. “Come on, let’s go stop your world’s Nazis. That’s what’s really ‘los.’”
6
Jason adjusted his cowboy hat and pulled the reins to his horse slightly to the right. He took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air and smiled.
The Rockies are wonderful on every alternate, he thought.
As near as he could tell, he was either in what would become northern New Mexico or southern Colorado, somewhere in the middle of either one. He did not want to ask the family directly where they were, since they already had too many questions about him and where he came from. To confess not knowing their current location would be pushing it. But he suspected they were probably in New Mexico Territory. They must be somewhere in the north of it, he reasoned, because the mountains were beautiful.
The horse whickered softly as they crossed a ridgeline. Below, a line of people came into sight, heading in their general direction.
He patted his horse softly on the neck and spoke in comforting and reassuring tones.
“Don’t worry about it, Earl. They’re among the living, and it’s still daylight.”
Earl had previously belonged to Jeremiah Oldman, recently deceased. Death by zombie, which made little sense to Jason, especially since they were in the Wild West.
Over the last several days Jason personally “killed” every zombie within miles of the Oldman Ranch. He used Jeremiah’s gun, wore Jeremiah’s hat and boots, and now he rode Jeremiah’s horse alongside his oldest son, Elijah. He also found a large stash of ammunition Jeremiah left behind that nobody else in the family knew about. This made killing zombies much easier.
The family certainly had a thing for Old Testament names, Jason decided. Elijah’s little brother was Ezekiel. Jason started calling them Eli and Zeke. The nicknames seemed more western, in Jason’s opinion.
The boys liked their new sobriquets. Their mother, Clarabeth Oldman, did not. She did not share her disapproval in words, but she made it obvious by the look on her face whenever the boys or Jason used the shortened versions. She would then emphasize their full names while addressing them.
“Ezekiel, wash your hands. Elijah, take your boots off at the door.”
But, the new ones stuck despite her disfavor. Jason would smile at her and use their full names in her presence, but outside the house everyone reverted to the nicknames.
Eli pulled his horse up beside Jason. The Indians saw them on the ridge. Someone pointed, and the line came to a stop.
“Reckon they’re friendly?” Eli said.
Jason said, “They’re probably thinking so long as we’re not dead, we’re alright.”
He squeezed his heels into Earl’s sides, and the horse moved forward, down the other side of the ridge. Eli followed.
Within minutes they were in shouting distance. The Indians were of all ages, and everyone looked haggard. Mothers carried babies who cried. Young men stood exhausted, loosely holding bows by their sides. Jason’s heart went out to them.
“Looks like they’ve been walking for days,” Eli said.
Jason nodded. Then he shouted out, “Anybody speak English?”
He missed not having access to Cait, who could have translated for him. She could have fed him lines to speak in the appropriate dialect, as well.
Two men stepped toward them. The first seemed older, and based on his clothing and headdress Jason guessed he was the chief.
The other was younger, and had a sharp, intelligent face. They walked together toward the horses.
Eli said, “Should we meet them halfway?”
Jason said, “No, we don’t want to alarm the guys with bows who are watching out for them. But, we should probably dismount and meet them as equals instead of on horseback.”
They climbed down and tied the reins for both animals to a scraggly tree growing nearby. By then the two Indians reached them. Jason turned and smiled.
“I’m Jason Walker. This is Eli Oldman.”
The younger man said, “This is Chief Mountain Bear. I am Little Fox.”
Jason nodded in greeting to the older man and said, “Your dead have walked among us. We stopped them by shooting them in the head.”
He waited until Little Fox finished translating to the chief, then he continued. “We seek to find the source of this evil magic that makes the dead walk. Do you know where it comes from?”
Mountain Bear began speaking. Little Fox translated and said, “One full moon ago, a star landed near our camp. A brave warrior found where it fell. It left a trench in the ground and smoke came up from the earth. The warrior dug down with his hands and he found a rock. He used his tomahawk to pull the rock from the earth. Something gold was deep inside the strange stone. He chipped away at the rock until the gold came out. It was in the form of a bracelet.”
Eli looked at Jason and said, “How did a bracelet get into a falling star?”
“You can bet it wasn’t by accident,” Jason said. “And falling near their camp was by design too.” Turning back to Little Fox he said, “Please ask the chief to continue.”
Little Fox translated their remarks. When the chief started speaking again, Little Fox continued.
“He brought the bracelet back to our camp. He showed it to everybody. He wanted to marry a young girl and he thought she might like it as a gift. But then our . . . how do you say . . . medicine man? Our medicine man, Broken Hand, demanded it. He claimed it was a gift from the gods and that only he should wear such a gift. So, he took the bracelet and put it on his arm.”