Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western

by Samantha Warren

  Charity barely stopped herself from growling out loud at the woman who had treated her like dirt since they first met. Her future mother-in-law didn't need to know that, until David came along, her family never had enough to eat. She didn't need to know that her mother barely made rent every week. Charity narrowed her eyes at the spiteful, arrogant woman and almost laughed. Knowing Catherine, she already knew all that anyway. She was the queen of gossip. As much as Charity despised her and as many times as she wanted to smack her, she almost envied the social queen.

  Charity's forced smile grew bigger and became real. Oh no, she didn't envy her. One day, Charity vowed, she would show Catherine Banks what it really meant to be high society. Charity would treat the people she met with respect and they would all love her. Everyone would look to her, Charity Banks, for advice on the best places to eat, the most reliable help, what dresses were in fashion. No, Catherine could have her moment now. Charity would wait patiently. She just needed that ring on her finger and then she could change things. She could show the world what Catherine was really like and prove that she wasn't just David's latest mistake.

  A door behind the chaise opened and the owner of the boutique entered the room. She wore a simple pantsuit and had her black hair pulled up into a severe bun. She knelt beside David's mother and kissed her on both cheeks. "Catherine, my darling, so good to see you. How are you feeling? Is this heat getting to you?" Her accent was thick and very French.

  "No, no, not at all," Catherine responded.

  Charity knew the woman was lying. David had little sense for when to keep a secret and he had already told her that the heat always did a number on his mother. She would lay in bed with servants waving large fans over her, complaining about the horrible stickiness of the city and begging her husband to move them to the country. But whenever he suggested they visit their manor in upstate New York, she would come up with some excuse to not leave the city. Whether the woman was afraid of travel or just didn't want to be out of the spotlight, Charity did not know.

  The French woman, Victoire, greeted the other women in turn before finally focusing on Charity. "Ah, the future Mrs. Banks." She beamed at the young woman in front of her and clasped Charity's shoulders in her hands. "Come, my darling, see what I have come up with for you."

  Charity followed her from the room, thankful when the door closed on the watchful hawks behind her. They entered a large room that Charity had never been in before. It was filled with some of the most magnificent dresses she had ever seen in varying stages of completion. The skill and costly materials were far beyond anything her mother had ever handled.

  Victoire walked up to a row of lilac dresses that would have been pretty if not for the color. "These," she said as she waved her hand over one, "are for your bridesmaids. What do you think?"

  Charity forced herself to smile. "They're lovely. But I thought we discussed using black. Who ordered them?"

  The woman cocked her head to the side. "Why, Catherine, of course. She said your colors were lilac and violet."

  Charity couldn't hold back her snorting laugh.

  Victoire sighed and gave Charity a knowing look. "Those aren't your colors, are they?"

  "No. I made the mistake of telling her purple was my least favorite color."

  "Typical Catherine. She did the same to Rebecca, you know." The seamstress plucked at a dress. "Oh dear. With the wedding so close, I'm not sure I can redo them in this style."

  Charity thought about the work the woman would have to do to remake all the dresses in time. Her own mother was scrambling to finish the gowns for an entire wedding party even as they spoke. "No, don't worry about it. It's all right. I don't want you to do have to do more work than necessary. It's not important." Charity gave her a winning smile.

  Victoire returned it two-fold. "Thank you, dear. I really am very sorry. Now let's take a look at your dress." She ducked between two of the bridesmaids dresses. On the other side, Charity found the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. It truly was made for a princess. Tiny diamonds were stitched into the bodice and lace adorned the neckline. The train wrapped around the base of the stand and glittered with matching jewels scattered along its length.

  Charity was in heaven. She walked around the dress, brushing her fingers lightly against the smooth fabric. "It's so beautiful," she cooed as tears welled up in her eyes.

  Victoire beamed. "I am so glad you approve, my darling. I hope it makes up for the bridesmaids dresses."

  The young woman nodded emphatically. "Oh, absolutely. It's more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you. Thank you so much."

  Victoire grinned and clapped her hands. "Fabuleux. Let us get you into it so we can make the final adjustments."

  When all the adjustments were noted, Victoire herded Charity back out into the main room, still wearing the wedding gown. As the young woman waltzed through the door, all heads turned in her direction. The two younger ladies rose, proclaiming their love for the dress in happy squeals. Catherine, however, remained seated. Her lips held an icy smile, but she sent a stinging glare in Victoire's direction. Her eyes held clear disappointment. Victoire intentionally avoided her the entire time Charity was showing off the dress.

  When they were done and Charity had changed back into her boring, common outfit, Catherine finally rose from the chaise. "Rebecca, Melody, why don't you ladies take Charity to the flower boutique? I will be along briefly. I just need to speak with Victoire for a moment."

  As they left, Charity shot Victoire a glance. The woman smiled at her and nodded. She knew what was coming and she was ready for it. Charity returned the smile warmly, a silent thank you to the woman who had wanted her to be happy in spite of the inevitable blow-back.

  She followed the other ladies down the streets until they found the flower shop that would be supplying the flowers for the wedding. Charity let the others pick the arrangements, having already lost her choice in colors anyway. She had her dress. That was all she needed. She would sleep well that night.

  Chapter 3

  "Gray Wolf, set up a perimeter." North Wind pulled the small band of survivors to a stop at the edge of a river, just inside a circle of trees. Aside from Summer Rain and Little Bear, the only others who had escaped the massacre were part of North Wind's band of warriors.

  The young woman slid from the horse and sank onto a fallen tree trunk as tears poured down her face once again. Little Bear dismounted and sat down beside her. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  "What will we do?" Her voice was soft and barely reached his ears.

  He watched as the warriors set up a small camp with practiced efficiency. "I don't know," he said, and he truly meant it.

  Summer Rain sat up quickly and dropped to her knees before him. Her fingers twined through his and gripped them so tight they turned white. Her dark eyes glistened as she pleaded with him. "You can do something, Little Bear. You can call on the spirits, speak to them. They can help us."

  "Boy, come." North Wind stood behind Summer Rain with his arms crossed. His long dark hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail to reveal an ugly scar that ran from his ear, down his neck, and across his chest, stopping just before his rib cage. It was a mark of pride and he refused to hide it.

  Little Bear rose, jerking his hands from Summer Rain's, and followed the warrior deeper into the woods and out of earshot of Summer Rain. The older man stopped and stared at him hard for several seconds before speaking.

  "Why were you not in the village when the men came?" His tone wasn't accusatory, merely questioning.

  Little Bear glanced back to where Summer Rain sat on the log with her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. "I was helping her gather water."

  The warrior snorted, but a small smile played across his lips. "Yes, gather water. I used to help the young women of our village gather water, as well." He paused and looked around, watching his men for several seconds before
he continued. "Our village is gone, Little Bear. Your grandfather and father are both dead. I saw them die trying to protect your mother and sisters. We are all that is left. One woman, a son of a shaman, and half a band of warriors. We are finished. We will roam the land without a home. You and your woman may conceive a child, but it will have no family, no place to be raised the way it should." When North Wind looked at him, the warrior's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She is right, you know. We must give ourselves over to the spirits and ask for their help. We must avenge this wrongdoing, as best we can. Will you help us? Will you stand with us?"

  Little Bear stared at the warrior with his mouth open. "I am no shaman. I don't have the proper training. I cannot do what my grandfather could."

  North Wind gripped the younger man's shoulder gently and bowed his head so he could look Little Bear in the eye. "We need you. We have nothing left. This is the only way."

  Little Bear sighed and walked a few paces away from North Wind. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Summer Rain sitting by the log. She cried for her lost family, for friends she would never see again, for a life that was ripped from her without warning. "Very well. I will do what I can."

  "Good. We will go back to the village once we have rested. We will track the men to their homes. We will slaughter them and their families the way they slaughtered ours."

  Little Bear's hands shook with excitement and fear. "What do you need me to do?"

  North Wind looked at him once more. His face was grim. "Call upon the spirits. Ask them for help. We need them."

  The young shaman fought to keep his hands from shaking. "I will do it tonight. I need to gather some materials first."

  "Go. I will have a fire ready when you return. And Little Bear..."

  Little Bear looked back as he turned to leave.

  "Thank you."

  The young man paused for a moment before nodding. His heart pounded in his chest and fear coursed through his veins. He didn't have the proper training to call on the spirits without his grandfather's help. It could go terribly wrong. But what else could he do? He was not a warrior. He could shoot a bow well enough, but he was trained to hunt, not for combat. He would be useless to the group, little better than a woman. He had no choice.

  Little Bear walked slowly back to where Summer Rain sat on the log. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "I am going to gather wood for a fire and food for us to eat. You stay here. The warriors will take care of you."

  Summer Rain narrowed her eyes at him. Did she know what he was planning? What would she say? But she just nodded and put her head back in her hands.

  He stood up and walked into the woods. His eyes scanned the ground as he stepped carefully through the forest. Every so often, he found something he was looking for and would stoop to gather moss, flowers, or some other essential ingredient for his ceremony. He needed an eagle's feather, but he did not know where to find one, so he settled on a turkey's feather instead. He hoped the spirits would not notice the lack of salt, either.

  When he had all the items he could find, he found his way back to the little clearing they were calling home. North Wind was stoking a fire in the middle of a dirt patch. Summer Rain was sitting on the ground next to it, plucking apart a piece of grass. Little Bear piled the items behind a tree and joined them. Summer Rain's eyebrows twitched when he came back empty-handed, but again she said nothing. North Wind gave him a nod and stood up as two of his warriors entered the small clearing. They carried skins full of water and several small dead animals. One of the men thrust the animals toward the young woman with a grunt. She gave him a baleful look as she took them from the warrior, but she cleaned and skewered them before laying them over the fire.

  While she tended to dinner, Little Bear went over and over the ceremony in his head. He was forgetting parts of it, he was sure of that. But he hoped the spirits would heed his call and forgive his missteps in favor of righting the many wrongs done to his family. His grandfather was a favorite of theirs, according to many. They would want to avenge him, to see his grandson cared for and protected. The young man was lost deep in thought when Summer Rain called to him.

  "Little Bear, dinner is ready."

  He glanced up. The sun had fallen far below the trees and the sky had turned a deep, dark blue. The young shaman sat down with North Wind and several of the warriors as they shared the small meal. When it was finished and the sentries were fed, Summer Rain curled up behind the log away from the rest of them.

  Little Bear sat beside her and waited, listening to her breathing as it slowed. When he was sure she was fast asleep, he rose and gathered all his ingredients. He knelt near the fire and sorted through the pile. With as much care as he could manage, he arranged the collection the way his grandfather had taught him. He surveyed his handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. The spirits should be pleased well enough. He hoped.

  Next, he walked down to the river and slathered mud on his face and arms, then he returned to the fire. Raising his arms above him, Little Bear took several deep breaths and closed his eyes. He rehearsed the ceremony once more in his mind, going over each detail as best he could. Fear settled into his gut. He grew up hearing stories of clan members who had tried to call on the spirits without first earning their respect. What would happen to him if they did not accept his offerings?

  He opened his eyes. North Wind watched nearby from the shadows of the trees. It was time.

  Little Bear stared into the fire and began softly chanting the words his grandfather had made him repeat over and over. The young man had never actually performed this ceremony before. He had only ever watched as it was done. He remembered his grandfather going into a trance, speaking to the air, to creatures that were not there. The old man would sway and call out their names, asking them to come to him.

  The young shaman rocked on his heels and waved his arms over his head as the words flowed from his lips. He stumbled over several of them as his tongue tangled in his mouth. If his grandfather were still here, the ancient man would admonish him for not practicing enough, for being disrespectful. Deep in Little Bear's heart, he felt the dull ache grow. His grandfather wasn't here. He would never be here again. He was all alone.

  He called to the spirits with renewed force, with renewed fury. "Oh powerful ones, I call you. Come before me and hear my request."

  He danced to the side in an intricate pattern and picked up a feather from where it lay. A turkey feather, not the required eagle feather. He waved it around over his head. "I offer you this token as a sign of my obedience and faith. Come to me. Come heed my words."

  He repeated the gesture again and again until all the items around the fire had been offered. Then he stood in his original spot and waited, chanting continually with his arms over his head. He could see North Wind out of the corner of his eye. The warrior waited with him, his face a mask of stone.

  Then the man was gone. The area around Little Bear's periphery vision disappeared, fading into pure, impenetrable blackness. The fire in front of him sparked and sputtered, then it exploded into a roaring orange and black tornado.

  The young man stumbled backward and tripped over a rock. His chanting came to a halt as landed hard on his backside. He stared into the flames with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  A woman stepped toward him through the smoke. Her body was created from the swirling black mist, her hair a wall of flame that floated behind and around her. She towered over him. Her red eyes burned into him, through him.

  "Who dares to call my brethren forth from the abyss?" Her voice reverberated through his bones and set his teeth chattering against his will. An ache spread throughout his body, giving him the strong urge to curl into a ball and hide until she disappeared.

  Instead, he scrambled to his knees and prostrated himself before her. "I... I do. I call upon you," he mumbled into the wind and roar of the fire. "I need your help."

  The woman's foot stopped a mere inch from his face and she leaned over. He could feel he
r heat burning the hair from the back of his neck, but he did not look up. He couldn't. He was frozen with fear.

  "And what gives you the right? What gives you, a scrawny little nothing of a child, the nerve to demand my presence?"

  Her words tore through him, setting his insides aflame.

  He gritted his teeth and spoke. "I am the grandson of the Great Flying Eagle. I am his successor. He taught me the ways of the shaman. I was to take his place."

  She snorted and small drops of fire landed on Little Bear's back. He bit down on a scream, refusing to show the smallest sign of weakness. "You are not a descendent of the Great Flying Eagle. He is a man of honor, a man who understands our ways. He would never insult us like this."

  Fear surged through Little Bear and he rose to his knees despite every instinct that told him not to. "No, you don't understand," he cried. He dragged his eyes up to meet hers and immediately regretted it. His face was on fire. His insides were melting. He was sure everything would soon come pouring out of his body, leaving him to die in a puddle of his own blood.

  He pressed on. He had no choice. "My grandfather is dead. The Great Flying Eagle is dead. All my people are dead. I call on the spirits, on you, for help. I need to avenge them. I need to make it right. Please, help me hunt down the men who murdered my village and make them beg for mercy before I peel the skin from their bones."

  A slow smile grew on the gray woman's face. Her mouth was a pit of flame. "Avenge? I do not hear vengeance in your voice, boy. I hear 'I' in your every word. You do not call upon us for the greater good of mankind. You call on us to protect your pitiful pride."

  "No!" Little Bear found himself standing. He took a step toward the woman. She was still taller than him by a full head and shoulders, but he would not back down. "I need your help. You must give it to me. You cannot deny me this request."

  Her smile blossomed into a cheerful grin that made Little Bear shiver despite the overwhelming heat coming off of her. Her laughter boomed across the forest. "Very well. You want my help?"