Those Poor, Poor Bastards (Dead West Book 1)

by Tim Marquitz

  Nina landed hard on one knee, tumbled sideways. Head spinning, bearings lost, not knowing up from down, then moaning and clack-clacking loud in her ears, way too close. She sensed the deadun’s jaws snapping near her left cheek.

  Hand still locked around its throat, she pushed and won a little space. She reached across her body and got her knife, then sawed at her long hair. A dry tearing sound, and then she was free! The deadun still held several inches of her hair in its fist, chewing the dark locks.

  Nina’s fury became a spike of heat. She lifted her hunting knife and plunged it blindly at the deadun’s head, sloughing off pieces of scalp and facial flesh, then puncturing the creature’s eye in a gush of phlegm and blood, splitting socket bone to the hilt.

  She pulled the blade free and looked up. Mason stood there, wiping his knife on a rag, grinning. The family huddled together, looking from Mason to Nina.

  “Thanks for the help.” She stood and glared at him.

  “Aw now, you look like you had things handled. Loved the way you…” he made a swiping motion, “...chopped your hair off, though Injuns are especially practiced at that.”

  Nina curled her lip and retrieved her hat and ax while Mason chuckled. To hell with him. Wasichu took as many scalps as the People, she knew for a fact, all for their blam’d paper money. Her perception of Mason Daggett being the more rational of the two brothers was way off—he was just a more shrewd kind of dangerous.

  She placed her hat on her head and started for the family when the young girl, maybe twelve-years-old Nina reckoned, broke away from her ma and made for the dead hound. “Bacon!” the girl yelled and leaned over the bloody dog. She broke into a new rash of tears.

  “Hey now, you need to stop that ruckus,” Mason chided. “You’re going to bring more of ‘em down on us.”

  The father approached and put a hand on the sobbing girl. “Shhh, now, Rachel. The man’s right.”

  “C’mon, let’s get.” Mason turned and stepped off into the darkness.

  “Follow us,” said Nina.

  “Wait. Who are you people?” the man asked.

  “No time for that now. Just keep quiet and stay close.”

  Nina didn’t want to be a hard ass. Her heart went out to the terrified girl who gazed at her with eyes the size of the moon, but there weren’t nothing she could do right now other than lead them back to the group.

  Nina gathered a little about the family, speaking in whispers as they walked. The Buells, they were called; Grover, his wife Clara, and daughter Rachel. Nina asked them where they’d first seen the deaduns.

  “Deaduns. That’s as good a name as I’ve heard,” Grover panted, helping his wife and girl along. The family was having a hell of a time in the faint torchlight, tripping over just about everything and making Nina even more nervous. “They run us out of our shop, just like they done a lot of folk. We were lucky. Had the wagon hitched out back and was just about to head home anyway...” His voice faded as he put his arm around his dazed daughter to move her along. Clara walked behind them, her eyes darting everywhere.

  Mason paused and shushed them, and Nina thought it best not to ask any more questions. Get everyone to safety and hash out the rest then. There were still other assholes to deal with, living ones.

  “There’s Bossman’s torch,” Mason pointed ahead, and after a moment Nina picked it out. A tiny flicker in the pitch black. They made a direct line to that spot, stumbling back on the trail.

  Pa’s face lit up when he saw Nina. He grinned and squinted up at her. “You okay?”

  Nina rubbed her neck and smiled. “Got jerked around a little, but we managed to help these folks out.”

  “Great,” said George. “More mouths to feed.”

  Nina scowled. “You know, you spew a lotta fuckin—”

  “No, no please, it’s alright,” Grover responded. “We’ll hold our own.” The man wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter.

  “Undoubtedly,” Strobridge said. “Now let’s get moving, people.”

  “Where are you folks bound?” Grover asked.

  “Fort Bluff,” Pa answered.

  “Well that fort’s abandoned. No one’s been stationed there for a couple years. No one’s there to protect us.”

  “Why don’t ya’ll just wander on back wherever the fuck you came from then, hmm?” Mean George said, then spat and walked off after Mister Strobridge, Woodie, and his brother.

  Grover exchanged a look with his wife, then nodded. “Beggars ought not to be choosers.”

  “Pappy, I just want to go home,” said his daughter.

  “I know, pretty girl, but it’s best we stay in a group.”

  “Your pa’s right,” said Nina’s father. “Right now our only strength is in numbers.”

  “Are you…have you been bit?” Clara Buell asked Pa.

  “No, ma’am. My foot’s busted pretty good and James here enjoys playing pack mule.”

  Manning hefted up the back end of the wheelbarrow. “Speaking of, let’s shin out. Bossman and the Scalawag Brothers don’t seem to be slowing the pace none.”

  They headed off and the trail soon steepened in that soulless darkness, causing Nina to move in front of the wheelbarrow and hold it steady to keep it and Pa from wrecking. Manning seemed a right fit fellow, but he was still grunting and clenching his jaw, though neither he nor anyone else complained, despite the slow progress. Bone-weariness had taken them all, as well as a dull stupor; their world, or at least this part of it, had changed out of the blue and in one hell of a way.

  What would her mother have thought about all this? No doubt she would’ve faced east, sweeping her arms wide and uttering her usual Shoshoni wisdom, a prayer song to Duma Appah, something Nina would never understand. A sudden pressure formed behind her eyes, and tears burned them. No! She wouldn’t think about her ma, although Nina feared she needed her memory more than ever right now.

  The ground leveled out somewhat, and Pa said, “James, you need a break?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Nina caught a glimpse of Manning in the faint moonlight and saw his face shined with sweat. She thought about speaking up, but then her pa continued, “Alright, well, ain’t much further, if you’re sure, and all.”

  “I can help,” Grover Buell offered.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Manning said again.

  “All right, well, if you do need a break for a minute…”

  Manning nodded and smiled and kept pushing.

  They followed the overgrown dirt track out into the open toward a massive shadow squatting in the darkness. The sound of trickling water reached Nina’s ears.

  “Maples Creek,” Pa said.

  Although she and Pa had never been this way, they had a few decent maps of the surrounds, and from what she remembered, the abandoned Fort Bluff sat upon a rise less than a quarter mile south of the creek.

  “How’s your foot, Pa?”

  He shook his head, giving her a stare she felt through the darkness. He was right. Wouldn’t do any good discussing his injury—his weakness—in front of the others. Bad enough he had to rely on a stranger to wheel him over rough terrain. It had to stick right deep in her father’s craw they’d been forced to rely on a stranger’s good will. The way she reckoned it, though, without James Manning she and her pa would have never left Coburn Station alive. Or at least not alive in the way they were at present.

  A couple minutes later, Nina made out a jagged line against the clouds; a wall of sharpened wood logs pointing at the sky. There were gaps in the line, entire sections fallen away from disrepair. Strobridge lit another torch and more of the wall was revealed. Made of old timber, moss-covered and rotted, it looked like you could poke a stick right through.

  “This wall’s a piece of shit,” George notified everyone of the obvious.

  “That’s why we’re going in, brother.”

  “Shh,” someone whispered.

  Strobridge shuffled along, hand up, his voice an urgent whisper.
“Now, I toured this place years back when Cap’n Stewart and Colonel Hays was skirmishin’ those fuckin’ Injuns from Truckee down to Pyramid Lake, and if memory serves, some of the buildings inside are adobe and may still be sound.”

  Pa cleared his throat. “Fort like this probably got a hospital inside. Likely be the most solid structure aside from the ammunition depot and officers’ quarters. These kinds ain’t built so much for defense, but to establish a presence and offer aid to local settlers and trappers and the like.”

  Mason’s face was shadowy amusement. “How you know all that, old man?”

  “I been running scout missions through these territories since before you were born, boy. I seen every type of fort ever made, and I know how the men who build ‘em think.”

  George leaned over Pa. “Looks like we got us a gin-u-wine Injun scout.” He leered at Nina before looking back at her pa. “Why don’t you show us more of what you learnt, maybe one of them rain dances? Oh, damn. I forgot. You got a gimp fuckin’ foot.”

  “Back off,” Nina warned.

  “Or what, half-breed?”

  Nina’s instinct was to lash out, but a spike of fear crippled her anger. Pa was immobile, vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford to make a wrong decision now. Not with these Daggett assholes so heavily armed. There were the Buells and Jasmine, too. Nina would have to play it safe, have to take some responsibility; difficult given Pa had always been that force in her life. In any case, George Daggett was no doubt her enemy. Nina remained silent, patting Pa on his shoulder and offering to help Manning with one of the wheelbarrow handles.

  Manning shook his head. “I am right as rain,” he said, but she noticed his gaze never left Mean George, who smirked and spat, then turned his attention back to the dilapidated fort wall.

  At the fort entrance, the thick wooden doors hung open in the flickering torchlight. Shadows capered in the parade ground beyond. Everything smelled old and moldy, dead. Nina thought going inside was somehow the best and worst possible idea imaginable.

  Moans echoed down from the forest around them, hollow things from soulless creatures hidden in the darkness. The sound was akin to wolves howling, only made up of human voices, colder and even hungrier. Chills shook Nina’s shoulders.

  “Probably all through the damn hills.” Strobridge looked around, eyes narrow and sharp.

  “I’m certain they are,” agreed Grover Buell.

  “Then our torches must look like dern beacons to them,” Pa said. “Hard to tell how good they can see.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?” George pointed up into the surrounding hills. “We’re ringin’ the dinner bell, and they ain’t havin’ furry fuckin’ forest creatures neither. It’s us.”

  “I agree,” said Mason. “No telling what’s inside, but we sure as hell know what’s outside.”

  They went through the gates and entered the wide, grassy parade ground. Long, partially collapsed structures lay to their left and right. Probably stables or barracks, Nina figured. Ahead across the expanse were smaller buildings tumbled sideways and falling apart in big piles of crumbled brick and rotting wood. Something massive sat behind the mess, something Nina hoped was their salvation.

  “Look. There’s a light,” Woodie said, his arm poking out from beneath his load of rucksacks and weathered baggage.

  “Hmmm, I believe you’re right,” Strobridge squinted. “What say you Daggett boys go have a look for us?”

  “Fuck you, mister. Have your own goddamn look.”

  “Now, pull your horns in, Georgie,” his brother said. “Let’s find out what it’s worth to the big Bossman.”

  Strobridge’s grin lit up, looking evil in the golden glow. “Thirty dimes a piece. That worth a quick peek?”

  Mason nodded to George. “You bought yourself a couple scouts, Bossman.”

  “He ain’t no skin-flint,” Mean George said. “Half up front.”

  Strobridge chuckled and reached into his coat, procured a small leather pouch, and shook it, rendering the unmistakable clink of coins. “Payment in full once services are rendered, boys. Take it or leave it.”

  Mason whacked his brother on the arm. “C’mon.”

  “Ow!” George grumbled, then the two moved off into the darkness.

  Nina groaned low in her throat as they wandered off. It wasn’t just the Daggetts she had to worry ‘bout.

  “You okay?” Manning said low, bumping Nina with his elbow as he stretched his arms. Nina couldn’t see his expression, but his tone held a warmth usually reserved for kin or persons of special interest. Might James be sweet on her in all this accursed mess? Made sense, she supposed, why he’d go to such lengths as he had, being a practical stranger and all.

  “I’m fine.” Nina shook her head, considered her father still sitting in the wheelbarrow. “We need to take a look at that foot as soon as we can.”

  “We got other things to worry about,” her pa said with a stubborn frown, but she could tell he knew she was right, and he had no good reason to protest. They needed to get that boot off, and soon. His foot might heal poorly if not set right. A broken foot, even a twisted ankle, could hobble a man the rest of his life.

  They packed together, aware of the cold after having come to a stop. The Buells stood in back, pressing in on Jasmine, who pressed in on Manning and Nina. Normally, Nina would have an aversion to the proximity of so many others. Her pa had preached awareness of the space around her, but at the moment Nina didn’t mind the closeness one bit.

  Funny how things affected complete strangers.

  The young girl, Rachel, sniffed and shivered against her mother’s skirts. Grover held his wife’s shoulders and peered around nervously. Nina silently wished the best for them, but a hard world had just gotten a thousand times harder.

  “Psst,” hissed Mason Daggett from the shadows. “It’s us. Don’t shoot.”

  Strobridge leaned forward, cupped his hands over his mouth, and whispered. “What did you find?”

  The brothers jogged up. Mason pointed back to the ruins and used the tip of his finger to relay specifics. “Past those broke buildings is a sturdy one of clay brick, big, defensible. There’s other entrances, too, around the sides and back. We tried a couple of them. Boarded up or locked. There’s something else.” He looked askance at George.

  “Well? What is it?”

  “There’s definitely people inside. And the deaduns agree, because there’s about a dozen of those shuffling goners all ‘round the main entrance.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit’s right… but we can take ‘em.”

  “You volunteering?”

  “Yeah, I’m volunteering everyone.”

  Chapter Six

  Nina thought the raiding party, for that's what they'd become, was likely a poor match for the mass of clawing, snarling deaduns at the door, but she had to admit getting some rest behind a solid wall sounded more than a little appealing.

  It was worth the risk. Had to be. Manning gave Nina’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She smiled back even though his touch wasn’t all that comforting. His grip was cold and hard.

  Mason quickly whispered his plan, got nods from Strobridge and Pa, and they were suddenly out in the open, fanning out like assassins. Only Clara and Rachel remained behind with Pa, none of them able carry on a proper fight. Hell, Nina wasn’t even sure about Grover or Jasmine, but they’d have to find their balls sooner rather than later because the world wasn’t gonna hold their damn hands.

  Nina picked out her target, a tall, thick fellow, arms up and groping across the wall in stupid exploration. She glued her eyes to the base of the deadun’s neck, intent on burying her blade there. And then she made the mistake of glancing at Jasmine. The woman was all but petrified, holding the blade she'd been given like it was a glowing-hot horseshoe. The woman had probably never sliced a potato much less driven a blade through muscle and bone.

  Nina quickened her pace. She needed to take hers out in time to help Jasmine before she got
herself killed. Someone hissed at her to slow down, but she was already there, plunging her knife into the deadun's neck. At least that's how she'd imagined it. Reality had its own ideas.

  Her overhand swing was strong, just like gutting a strung-up hog, but the blade hit skull and turned downward. Nina pushed with her forearm across its back, pinning the thing against the wall as she pulled her knife free and got ready to take another whack at it, but the deadun spun, his flattened face resembling an angry shovel, and knocked her aside with ease.

  Right into another. Damned if there weren’t two of ‘em now, with her trapped between ‘em. The one behind her got its wiry hands wrapped around her neck. She was in a heap-full now.

  Something snatched her hat off her head. She heard a throaty growl. Wet struck her nape. Cold, foul breath tickled her skin. She flinched, but swallowed her panic. Pa had taught her a thing or two about fighting off sneak attacks.

  She dropped quick, slipped from the grasp of the deadun at her back, and went down on one knee. Just as she broke free, something slammed into the corpse behind her, sent it flinging over her shoulder into ol’ shovel-head. The two flesh-hungry growlers groped and stumbled around one another in a macabre dance.

  “Here!” Jasmine extended her arm. Nina took her hand and let herself be pulled to her feet, got her bearings, and shimmied in for another strike. If she missed again...

  The deadun that had grabbed hold of her neck a second ago was a few inches shorter, with a tangled mop of dirty blond hair. Nina flipped her blade point-up and moved in. Blondie got herself turned around, searching for lost prey, but Nina was on her, grabbed a handful of hair and plunged her knife into the snarling woman’s temple, easy as butter. The deadun dropped like a rock.

  Then shovel-head was on her, more hell-fired than ever, making guttural, feral noises.

  Jasmine found her courage…and her voice. Leading with a yell, she dashed up and started beating shovel-head with fist and blade, a whirlwind of knuckles and steel. Nina stepped back to avoid Jasmine’s wild swings as much as the deadun’s gnashing teeth. Despite the woman’s ferocity, shovel-head was hardly deterred. It batted at Jasmine’s arms, grabbed at the knife, pushed and battled the raging woman to a standstill.