by Angela Scott
Rivers slumped forward and rested her arms on her knees. "When're they coming back?"
"Yeah," Fisher piped in. "I'm bored."
"Soon."
The sun disappeared from the mouth of their shelter. The men had been gone far longer than expected. They should have been back for lunch, but she and the kids ended up sharing their portion. Now it was going on dinnertime and they still hadn't returned.
Red turned away from the kids and closed her eyes for a moment. If they didn't return by morning, she'd have to take the kids and move on. The men would do the same if the circumstances were reversed.
A twig snapped in the distance and brought her upright. She released her breath and the heaviness in her chest lifted. Red turned and smiled at the kids. "Well, let's go see if they brought anything special for you two."
She expected them to jump to their feet and tear out of the cave, but they sat motionless with wide, terrified eyes flicking back and forth from the cave opening to her. Neither of them said a word.
Red whipped her head around and took in a sharp breath.
A swarm of decrepit souls crashed through the trees just a few yards away, clambering over rocks in the direction of the cave. Their jaws cracked and stretched while their cloudy eyes fixated on her and the kids. There were so many—too many—and she and the kids had nowhere to run or hide.
Classy neighed and bolted to avoid the onslaught of zombies. Lasso barked repeatedly and snapped at the air, but the walkers were unfazed by the furry creature.
"Get to the back!" she yelled at the kids. "Now!"
Rivers yanked Fisher's arm and pulled him to the far corner, while Red grabbed her weapons and prepared to take on the horde herself.
As the zombies shuffled closer, she fired the rifle and took each rotting corpse down as fast as she could. Twenty-five bullets, spread over three guns, wouldn't be enough, but she continued to shoot, hoping for a miracle. Giving up wasn't an option.
Her ears rang from the shots vibrating off the rock walls, intermixed with her fluid curses and the children's terrified cries. She held her hands steady and fought back the fear that threatened to overtake her. If it weren't for the kids, it would've been easy to give in.
Rivers huddled in the back of the cave, shielding Fisher with her own body. "Don't let them bite me!" she cried. "Please, don't let them bite me!"
Red shot the last of her bullets into the heads of a few zombies that threatened to enter the cave. Rivers' cries pushed Red onward even after the bullets were long gone, and she crushed zombie skulls with the butt of her rifle, using all the force she could muster.
The undead crumbled to the ground and created a pile at the mouth of the cave, but more came crawling on all fours over the scattered bodies, sniffing the air, growling through broken jaws. The children cried, the zombies shrieked, and Red continued to smash her rifle down on bone.
When it became slick with blood, she threw the gun to the side, and with a war cry of her own, grabbed one zombie and snapped its neck with one quick twist. Then she snapped another, and another. She yelled out when one clamped its crooked jaws onto her arm and another pierced her leg with its jagged teeth. The vile venom flowed through her blood stream and attacked her organs, cells, tissue, and nerves.
Her pained cries only exacerbated Rivers' fearful pleas. The girl screamed, "Don't let them bite me!"
Despite the pain from the liquid heat, Red continued to snap necks even as she lost feeling in her arms and the twitching began. The zombies who had bit her foamed at the mouth and regurgitating their insides, as her blood killed them. The numbness crept down her arms and legs and her vision blurred, then disappeared all together. Her tongue thickened and soon she couldn't speak.
She pried one set of zombie fingers from her arm, kicked at another to free herself, and stumbled backward, blindly groping the cave walls. She threw herself on top of the kids and pushed them into the corner, hoping to spare them from feeling anything but her weight.
If the bites must come, let them come to her.
***
Inside her belly, it breathed. Its feelers reached out from her core, snaked itself through her veins, and wrapped itself around her spine. It had a hold of every bone in her body, and the ability to crush her if it so desired.
But it waited.
It toyed with her and dragged out the misery, extending her hell as it licked the inside of her temples. Tainted blood rushed to every part of her aching body and seeped into her cells. Blackness distorted everything as she fell deeper into the fiery abyss. It scorched her from the inside out. Her heart fought tirelessly to pump the thickness that flowed through it. The sulfuric smell ate away at her senses.
I can't do this anymore.
The beast inside her squeezed a little tighter. She gave in and allowed it to drag her all the way under.
Chapter 18 – Family
With everything packed and ready to go, Wen and Trace hitched up the horses and climbed to the seat. They hadn't acquired enough to see them through the winter, but with the wild crowd Trace had found in town, they had a whole lot more than he expected.
"I hope she has dinner on the go," Wen said. "I'm feeling rather peckish."
"Sorry about that." Trace gave the reins a snap and the horses started forward.
The horses weren't used to pulling anything behind them, and balked at it, but after a few yards they gave in and pulled the wagon smoothly.
"I didn't think we'd be gone all day." Trace shook his head. "I don't like the idea of Red and the kids being on their own for so long, but taking them into town with us would have been the wrong thing to do."
Wen settled in the seat beside him. "Yeah, it was better to leave them behind."
"He's still looking for her."
"How do you know for certain?"
Trace pulled out the crumpled poster and handed it to Wen, who smoothed it out.
Wen sat quiet for a minute while studying the drawing. "This ain't good. This ain't good at all."
"Notice he wants her alive. Two thousand dollars to bring her in unharmed." Trace rested his elbows on his knees. "People will be riding all over the country looking for Red. It's a lot of money."
"Well, we ain't gonna let that happen, are we?" Wen folded the poster, handed it back, and placed his hand on Trace's shoulder. "We're family now. And I won't let anyone mess with my family."
Family? The concept excited him and scared him at the same time. Excited him, because he'd never had a family before. He'd always pretty much been on his own. Scared him, because now he stood a great chance of losing them.
It was all so unfamiliar—Red, the kids, even Wen. He'd been so focused on survival that he hadn't considered his companions as much more than that—companions. Except for Red. He wanted to be with her in every sense of the word. He just wished she'd open herself up to him.
At times, he felt them connecting, drawing closer. At other times, she pulled away and left him to wonder at his foolishness in trying.
***
Trace smelled it before they even drew close to the cave. Rot and decay wafted down the mountain and enveloped them. The overpowering odor made bile rise to his throat, but he swallowed the burning taste away.
Before he could pull the wagon to a stop, Wen jumped off and ran full speed up the wild terrain. Obviously, he smelled it, too.
Trace heard Lasso barking, but nothing else. No children. No Red. He yanked on the reins to stop the horses and the wagon, and jumped off to climb up the hillside after Wen.
"Red! Red!" He couldn't feel the rocks he scrambled over, or the trees and brush he pushed through. Everything was out of focus except for one thing—Red and the kids.
"Please be okay. Please be okay." He repeated the phrase over and over, as if doing so would make it a reality.
Wen stopped suddenly, and Trace just about slammed into him as the cave came into view. Bodies littered the cave's entrance and created a wall that obstructed the men's ability to see i
nside. Some of the dead continued to foam at the mouth, while others stared up with cloudy eyes and a bullet lodged in the middle of their foreheads.
"Red! Rivers!" Wen yelled, as he began to heave aside the rotting corpses.
Trace pulled himself together, dove toward the bodies, and joined in Wen's frantic excavation. There were so many of them.
"Red!" he called out. "Red!"
Silence.
After clearing the pile of bodies away from the entrance, they found more inside the cave. Red had put up quite a fight fending them off—crushed skulls and severed limbs littered the floor. Trace and Wen pitched them like ragdolls onto the pile accumulating outside.
"Rivers! Fisher!" Trace fought against his churning stomach. "Say something! Please say something!"
Come on, come on, come on!
Then he heard it—whimpering, faint, yet distinct. Someone was alive inside the cave.
The boy rocked on the ground with his arms over his head while small, pitiful sounds escaped his lips. Beside him, Rivers and Red lay unconscious and drenched in blood. Rivers' bare legs and arms revealed a few bites that bubbled on her skin.
Face down next to the girl, with one arm tossed across Rivers' belly, Red's back oozed a bloody, foaming mess that soaked through what little remained of her shredded shirt. Puncture wounds, scratches, and deep bites peeked through the strips of cloth.
Trace had seen men lashed—struck repeatedly with jagged leather straps that tore their flesh open—as a punishment for their crimes, but Red's wounds were by far the worst he'd ever seen.
"She's burning up!" Wen pressed his hand over the wound on Rivers' arm, but blood continued to flow through the cracks of his fingers. "What do we do?"
"I don't know," Trace said. Rivers didn't look too bad, but Red.... He couldn't imagine her coming back from this. "Carry Rivers to the wagon and then come get the boy."
"Look at them! We can't move 'em!"
"We sure as hell can't stay here!"
Trace pulled his shirt over his head and pressed it to Red's back to staunch the flow of blood. It soaked his shirt in a matter of seconds; she was losing too much.
"Come on, Red," he whispered near her ear. "Help me out here. Help me, please."
He watched Wen scoop the girl in his arms. Unsure of what to do, he lifted Red and carried her out of the cave and down the hillside as quickly as he could. Her slick, warm blood coated his hands and arms, and her skin burned against his chest, hotter than any human could possibly withstand. Yet she was still alive.
"Don't die, Red." He pressed his lips to her forehead, but quickly withdrew them from the scorching heat. "Don't you dare die on me."
Wen laid Rivers on the ground, jumped into the back of the wagon, and removed the tarp that covered the supplies. He folded it haphazardly to make a bed out of it, and pushed the boxes and crates aside to make room for their ailing companions.
"Hand her to me." Wen held out his arms, and Trace handed Red over to him.
Once Wen had placed her carefully on her stomach, leaving her back exposed, Trace handed Rivers up to him. The two of them lay unconscious, side-by-side, and Trace couldn't help but think they might lose them both. He pushed the thought aside and determined not to let that happen.
Wen bolted over the edge of the wagon and ran back up the hill to retrieve the boy. Red's horse was long gone, but when Wen returned with Fisher in his arms, Lasso came running after.
They needed to find a safe, warm place, but they couldn't turn to anyone without exposing the girls' secret and putting them in even greater danger. It was up to him and Wen to keep them alive.
***
"I promised I'd shoot her." Wen looked over his shoulder at Trace, who sat between the girls, bathing their heads with a cloth.
"I know."
"I should do it, too. I should. She looks like hell."
Trace didn't say anything. It would be easy—place a pillow over her face, shoot her in the head, end her misery—except he couldn't do it. If he had any chance of helping her pull through, he wanted to take it. Selfish, perhaps, but he couldn't give up on her. Not yet.
"I made a promise. I usually keep my promises, but I don't think I can do it." He shook his head. "I don't think I can shoot her."
"I know."
"If she pulls through, which I pray she does, she's gonna shoot us both."
Trace brushed back the sweat-soaked hair from Red's face. "I know." He didn't care. She could yell and scream all she wanted. She could put a bullet in his belly. He just needed her to live.
"I'm not going to shoot her."
"Good."
"But if she gets worse—I will."
If she got worse, Trace would step aside and let him.
Chapter 19 – Hand Gestures
It appeared as a mirage—a lava rock structure rising out of the desert. The military fort was a place of rest for the weary traveler.
Trace couldn't imagine anyone less weary than the five of them. "You see anything?"
He stood in the bed of the wagon and watched for signs of life—smoke, movement, or anything to suggest the fort was either occupied or abandoned. He couldn't see much indication either way.
"Nope," Wen said. "The walls are too high."
"Anyone in the towers?"
"Not that I can see."
"I hate not knowing what's in there." Trace shook his head and nibbled at his lower lip.
No smoke rose from the fort, which was a good thing. If people were inside, they'd have fires burning in order to keep warm or prepare their meals. However, lack of smoke didn't guarantee anything. A shelter this large with eighteen-foot walls that appeared indestructible couldn't have just been left abandoned. With enough food and supplies, the fort seemed an ideal place to wait out the plague. Surely, they weren't the first ones to have come upon it.
Wen's eyes narrowed in concentration. "What do ya think? Should we go check it out?"
Trace released his breath and considered their options. "The girls need a safe place to rest and recover, but if there are people down there, we're not going to receive the welcome we'd like once they catch a glimpse of what we have in our wagon."
Red's and Rivers' wounds had healed some and they'd stopped bleeding, but the sores still oozed. Both looked horrible—pale, sweaty, feverish—and the fact they remained unconscious didn't help. No one in their right mind would let them in with Red and Rivers looking so sick.
It was strange how their bodies mended themselves, little by little, with each passing hour. They'd come out of it, just as Red had before. He just had to give it some time.
If people had indeed taken refuge inside the fort, and if they were smart, they'd keep the mammoth-sized gates closed.
"If no one can see what we're carrying, then once we get inside, we'll go from there." Wen nodded with determination.
"I don't know." Trace wasn't so sure. "Hiding them to gain entrance is one thing, but if they find out once we're inside... well, I don't want to take that chance. If we get into a shootout with two of our members sick and a third only six years old, the odds would not be in our favor."
Fisher sat between them on the wagon and looked from one man to the other, his eyes wide. They tried to engage him—to pull him out of what could only be shock—but other than the occasional whimper, he remained silent. He didn't tell them if he was hungry, cold, or in need of anything; it was up to them to make sure he didn't starve or freeze to death.
It pained Trace to see the boy in this condition, but until Red and Rivers were settled in a place where they could recover, Fisher would have to take a back seat. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.
"Maybe I should go down and scout out the situation first," Trace said. "I can wave you in if it looks safe. If not, I'll just see if they can spare a few blankets and tell them I'm headed north. I don't want to put any of us in danger if we don't need to."
Wen nodded. "Good luck."
Trace tur
ned away and rolled his eyes. Either he would go down and find the place empty, or he wouldn't. Luck had nothing to do with it.
"If you hear any shots, take off." Trace checked his pistols, making sure each chamber had a bullet. "Don't worry about me. Just get them out of here as quick as you can."
Again, Wen nodded. "Be careful."
Trace tucked his guns into their holsters, pulled his jacket on to conceal them, and started toward the massive structure. Lasso tried to follow him, but he shooed him back. "Stay here, boy." The dog cocked his head to the side and lifted his ears. "Stay with them." Lasso stood a few yards in front of the wagon with his tail stilled, watching Trace go.
He expected to see someone in one of the two towers that faced him with a gun aimed in his direction, but the lookouts appeared to be empty. His walk up to the fort proved rather uneventful.
Trace pushed against the thick, wooden gates on the eastern side, but they didn't budge. He thought about knocking, but quickly dismissed it. A horde of sleeping zombies might be on the other side, and he didn't want to unleash well-contained flesh eaters. If both sets of doors were locked from the outside, he'd return to Wen and they'd move along. Whatever was locked inside should probably stay that way.
A slight breeze whistled past his ears as sagebrush tumbled by, which added to the already foreboding silence that surrounded him. A crow cawed overhead and Trace whipped around, his nerves getting the best of him.
Damn it. Pull it together.
He shook it off and walked around the circumference of the structure, close to the rock walls and out of the line of vision from the towers. The west-facing doors also appeared to be shut, but on closer inspection, Trace noticed a stone, no bigger than a walnut, jammed into the crack where the doors met.
Clever. Very clever.
Zombies possessed no capability for cleverness, and since no undead fingers reached through the crack or growled at him from inside, the fort must be zombie-free.
But someone had been here. Whoever had planted that rock between the doors would be back. If Trace and his companions were inside before then, the fort would be theirs, and the original squatters wouldn't take it back without a fight.