Zombie Wild West

by Eric Baker

  Zombie Wild West

  BLOOD IN

  THE STREET

  BOOK 2

  ERIC BAKER

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product

  of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Zombie Wild West: Blood In The Street Book 2

  Copyright ©2019 by Eric Baker

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise - without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  For permission requests, write to the author at:

  permissions@ericbaker.org

  Cover Design: Eric Baker

  First Published: June 2019

  Printed in the United States of America

  v.1.0

  As always, this book is dedicated to my family.

  Thank you to my wife, Allison,

  my children, Matthew, Kandler & Kaitlyn,

  and my parents, Jim and Janice.

  Without you, my stories and my music would mean nothing.

  Special thanks to my wife’s parents, Ted and Diane,

  for your love, support, Catan, and family.

  “Yea, though I walk through

  the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil;

  for You are with me”

  Psalms 23:4

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JOIN ERIC ONLINE

  PROLOGUE

  The stranger struggled to his feet. For hours he had lain in the shade of the first building into town. A weather-beaten sign with the word "Dire" on it swayed in the light breeze. But the time had come to move.

  He leaned against the building, his breathing shallow and ragged. Worn-out clothes looked as though they might fall off if he moved too fast. His fingers clenched over and over with a deep need.

  He stumbled to the corner of the building and paused. The sight of people now joined the sounds that had spurred him into motion. He reached out tentatively. His hands passed from shadow into light, showing dried and cracked skin.

  Moving into the street, the stranger’s arms dropped to his side. His head lowered, chin to chest. All of his energy focused on moving forward, on satisfying the hunger.

  Laughter from down the street and on the boardwalk made him pause. He looked up and contemplated the sound. Something in the laugh brought out another, deeper memory. He watched the three women on the boardwalk. Their conversation was lively and animated as they ignored their surroundings.

  The stranger’s head fell again to his chest as he moved forward. He focused on the sound of the women’s voices. His feet kicked up puffs of dirt as he stumbled and almost fell to the ground. But he kept going. As he got ever closer to the women, he began to growl.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The door to the farmhouse creaked open. Blood was everywhere. Stepping inside he saw the bodies of a woman and a young boy, laying on the floor by the fireplace. Bite marks were obvious on their throats and arms. A look of terror was frozen on their faces, in their glazed eyes. He screamed. Falling toward them, he reached out. Then hands from behind jerked him backward…

  The stumbling of his horse woke him up. Eli shook his head and looked around. He hadn’t realized he had nodded off, and now he felt disoriented. Nothing looked familiar or real. He clenched his eyes shut and took deep breaths.

  He hadn’t had the dream in a while, at least not that detailed. Usually, it was just the faces of his family staring back at him, full of pain, fear, and blood. That was enough to keep him up the rest of the night. That and the incessant thoughts of what he should have done, how he had failed them. And what he wished he could do to those responsible for their deaths.

  Opening his eyes again, he recognized a few of the rocky peaks around him. Still an hour from town at his current pace. He had pushed his horse too hard on the way out, and now they were both paying the price.

  The last words of the mine foreman, Clint Brennan, also kept playing over in his mind. “This has happened before.” He understood the words, but the meaning was key. Had he been in a similar situation? Had the mine been overrun? Or did he mean that the infection or whatever was causing people to go crazy?

  The infection was the only thing he could have meant. People going crazy. People killing each other. And that meant that someone knew about it. That they had covered it up. Like with his family.

  Stewing over all these thoughts, Eli let the horse take her lead. She knew the way back to town, and she knew her limits. Better to let her go at her own pace now than to push her and have her go lame. Then he’d end up walking. After he put her down. Neither would happen if he could help it.

  Movement to Eli’s right caught his attention. While he was going over everything in his head, he never forgot he was in Indian territory. The movement was just abnormal enough to snap him back to reality. Pulling on the reins, he brought his horse to a slow stop. Taking his hat off, he ran his hand through his hair, checking his surroundings before putting the hat back on.

  The movement appeared to be a figure walking near the base of the nearby cliffs. Eli skirted them intentionally to stay away from potential ambushes by Indians or outlaws. While this could be a trap, he also knew there were several prospectors in the area. He decided to check and make sure.

  Eli’s horse was worn out, but she had enough spunk left to toss her head at him when he turned off the path. She knew they were headed back to town, back to water, food and a good rub down.

  About twenty feet from the stumbling form, Eli pulled once again on the reins and came to a stop.

  “Hey! Everything OK? You need any help?” Eli watched the figure, a prospector from what he could make out of the clothing. He also kept an eye on the surrounding cliffs.

  The man stumbled to a halt. Eli thought he could hear the man breathing hard, deep labored breaths that sounded painful at this distance. The man turned, and Eli could just make out the side of his face, weather-beaten and cracked in the sun. He was obviously in distress. From what Eli knew of other men that had gotten lost in the deserted wasteland, the man before him was most likely dehydrated, possibly hallucinating, and probably nearly dead.

  Eli was also worn out, hot, hungry, and ready to be back in town. Even still, he urged his horse onward. The man never moved, just watched from the corner of his eye, as heavy breathing wracked his body every few seconds. At about ten feet away, Eli’s horse pitched her head and reared up. She refused to move closer. The stench of the man was overwhelming even from where they stopped. Eli dismounted and approached the man on foot.

  “Hey! Are you injured? Do you need help?” Eli tried again to talk to the man as he walked up.

  The man turned to face Eli. While his face was weather beaten, cracked and worn in the heat, his neck was a mess. Stripped of flesh, the bone of his spine showed through the skin, meat and black blood.

  Eli stopped, and his feet skidded on the hard, sand covered ground.


  “Oh, my L…” He lost his balance and fell backward on his rear as he pulled his pistol. His words were cut off as he struck the ground. The pistol flew from his hand, straight toward the man before him, landing between them.

  The man had already started toward Eli, closing the distance. Eli pushed himself to his feet, going toward the pistol as fast as he could. The man had his arms outstretched, and a loud, rattling moan came from his parched lips.

  They reached the pistol at the same time. Eli was hesitant to get into a fistfight with the man. He wasn’t sure how the disease spread, but he knew at least one way to get it was to get bit. And he wasn’t about to put his hand near the man’s mouth. At least, not if he could help it.

  Instead, Eli grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him to the left, trying to throw him off balance. It seemed to work for a second, but the man’s hand closed on Eli’s left arm with a grip of steel. As he stumbled, he pulled Eli around with him. Eli kicked the closest leg, hearing a loud snap, and the man fell. The iron grip on his arm never loosened, though, and Eli was pulled down on top of the man.

  The man fell on his back, still holding Eli. Teeth snapped, reaching for flesh. Eli fell awkwardly, his left arm aching from the man’s grip, and Eli saw straight into the man’s mouth as he fell. Without time to think of anything else, Eli reacted on instinct: he let his whole weight fall on his arm and pushed it into the man’s open mouth as hard as he could. The pressure on his arm was hard and painful for just a second, then bone and ligament snapped apart in the man’s jaw.

  Praying that his shirt sleeve would protect him from a bite, Eli reached out for the pistol, only a few feet away from the man’s head. Pressure continued on his arm and he resisted the urge to rip it out of the mouth, not wanting to rip the sleeve - or his arm - on the teeth. The man’s right hand made it more difficult by grabbing at him, but Eli got his hand on the pistol.

  Reaching forward, Eli brought his pistol up to the man’s forehead. The one eye, bloody red-black, never wavered in its stare at him. Eli couldn’t help but wait for a split second, staring in the eye, hoping, praying that there was something there, some indication of life. Nothing.

  Leaning back, he pulled the trigger. The grip on his arm fell away. The teeth slackened, and Eli slowly pulled his arm out and inspected the shirt for rips or cuts. Finding nothing, he pulled his sleeve up to inspect his arm. Teeth shaped bruises had already formed, but there was no broken skin.

  Pushing himself off the man, Eli closed his eyes for a moment. What was happening? Was this the end of the world? How was it possible that people that should be dead continued to walk and kill? And an even more frightening thought: had God abandoned them? So many questions, way beyond anything he could hope to answer. Right now, he needed to get back to town. He had to warn them.

  A snicker from his horse made him look her way. Good horse, she hadn’t run off this time either. He’d be sure to give her an extra treat and a day off, soon as he was able. She tossed her head again, this time looking back.

  Eli followed her gaze, and even in the dry, desert-like heat, his body broke out in a cold sweat. Numerous figures were stumbling out of nowhere, walking just like the man lying next to him had been doing. The gunshot. That was all he could figure. They were attracted to sound and motion. And even half dead, they were extremely strong.

  Replacing the spent bullet, Eli checked his belt and pockets for ammo. About a dozen extra rounds were all he had left. Running to the horse, he checked the rifle and found only five rounds in it.

  Mounting up, he realized he had a decision to make. He could stay on his present course to town and pray the group wouldn’t follow. If they did, he might have enough of a head start to get help in taking them down. Or, he could head into one of the nearby gorges cut into the cliff and try to lose them there.

  Looking back, he realized he only ever truly considered the second option. He’d risk the gorge and keep the crazy and dead as far away as possible from the town.

  Heading for the nearest opening in the cliff face, Eli saw more movement ahead. Sure enough, there were more of the stumbling, mostly dead people walking near the cliffs. They had either heard the gunshot, the groans of the ones behind him, or the sound of his horse’s hooves on the ever-hardening ground. Most likely all three. Regardless, they headed his way. He pushed his horse faster, angling away from them, hoping to get into the gorge without incident.

  As he got near the opening, he saw a few more people inside, heading back out when they heard the noise. Where had they all come from? Could they all be from the mines?

  Looking at their clothes, he realized that not all of them had mining clothes. Some had work clothes from a ranch or a farm. And there was even one that had the look of a prospector, cups and tools attached to his jacket, looking like he was ready to find the mother lode. Only the look on his face and in his eyes was a giveaway he was out for blood instead.

  Pushing past them, Eli and the horse galloped into the opening. The cliff face tightened and turned to the right, forcing them to slow. Eli paused for a second and looked back to see if he had been followed. There was at least a dozen in his direct sight, some moving into the gorge from outside. If their movement attracted the others, maybe they’d get lost in the gorge’s twists and turns.

  He kicked his horse forward and around the turn, straight into the waiting arms of three men with the same red-black look in their eyes. All three men let out high-pitched, blood-curdling screams as they grabbed for the horse. Sliding to a halt, Eli’s horse reared up, kicking one man in the head, sending him in a somersault backward.

  Before he could bring her back down, the remaining two men had lunged forward. Without regard for their own safety, they each grabbed a leg of the horse. As she came down, they fell to the ground, pulling her down with him. Eli threw himself from the saddle as the horse collapsed to the ground on top of both men.

  Jumping to his feet, he could only pray she got away. But before he could even look her way he heard the sound every cowboy dreads; his horse letting out a scream of pain.

  Eli froze in shock at the sight before him. His horse was on the ground, trying to regain her feet, rolling back and forth over the two men below her. But they weren’t letting go. To make it worse, they had both already bitten her legs numerous times, causing blood to splatter all over them and the ground.

  Getting hold of himself, Eli took a step toward his horse. He wanted to help her, but he knew she was lost. He also wanted to grab his rifle, but her frantic struggling would never allow him to get close. From around the corner, there came a mass of groaning, moaning half-dead people. Some of them fell onto the horse and tore into her. The others saw Eli and reached out for him, lunging, and stumbling for him. Tears of frustration in his eyes, Eli turned and ran.

  ____

  For a young brave in one of the many Sioux tribes in the Dakotas, it was difficult to stand out from the rest. Unless you’ve made many kills in hunting and war. Then, you were celebrated. Even now, after all the broken promises, revised treaties, and tribes closing in on themselves as they attempted to make peace, warriors were still revered.

  Takoda often felt he would never be remembered when he was gone. His name alone, “friend to all,” went against everything that the tribes stood for. Warriors! Fighters! How could he be a friend to someone he was expected to fight with?

  So, he often found himself alone, hunting or exploring, instead of staying near the camp and working with the women. Or worse, with the elders and their pipe smoke and constant talks of peace treaties or war.

  Today he had ventured far from camp. There was an ill wind in the air, and he was determined to find the cause. He had tracked deer to the canyons but had lost them in the rocks and sand. Still, it was only mid-afternoon, and he was reluctant to head back.

  Riding his pony along the edges of the deep cuts into the earth, he heard strange noises. Unable to identify the sounds, he had stopped numerous times to listen, even dismounting and
looking curiously over the edge. Still, he could not find a cause.

  When a shot rang out, echoing through the cuts in the ground, Takoda was kneeling once again at the cliff edge. He could tell that it came from his left, toward the lower plains. Pausing, he listened for more, but nothing came. He knew the white men traveled in that direction, and there were also the crazy men that searched for rocks. With nothing else to do, he decided to investigate.

  After a few minutes of walking his horse toward the sound of the shot, he paused again. There. That sound, almost of rumbling rocks, but more like an animal. He couldn’t be sure, but the sound put him on edge. Then he heard a sound that was unmistakable: a horse screaming out in pain.

  His own horse jumped at the sound. He had been skittish for some time now, but Takoda had assumed it was being close to the edge. But now he wondered. A shot, then a horse being injured. Maybe a mountain lion or some other predator? He couldn’t help his curiosity, driving him to know.

  Dropping the reins, he walked over to the edge yet again and peered down, blocking his eyes from the sun to let them adjust to the shadows in the cut. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a figure came around the corner. A man with a hat, running fast, looking over his shoulder.

  As the man turned, Takoda saw a golden glint on the man’s chest. A Lawman. The only lawman he knew of was from the small town nearby. He had heard good things about that one, that he dealt fair with all peoples, white or not. It could be him or one of his men below.

  Regardless, Takoda knew there was nothing he could do at this distance. He continued to watch, wondering what could be chasing him. After a few seconds, he got his answer. At first, there was just another man, stumbling along. Takoda thought maybe he was with the lawman, until there was another person, then even more. At least two handfuls of people, all following the lawman in their running, stumbling gait.