Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western

by Samantha Warren

  "Well, maybe if we--" Jasper was cut off as Jed grabbed his shirt and yanked him close. The boy could smell the rancid stench of rotten tobacco coming from Jed's mouth. He bit down on his tongue to keep himself from gagging and tried not to breathe.

  "Maybe if we what? Got real jobs, like the good townsfolk? Planted some crops? Raised a family?" Jed's tone was anything but sincere. He shoved Jasper back against the post Jed had been leaning on earlier. "Shut your hole and go gather that straw I told you to get."

  Jasper hunched his shoulders, making himself as small as possible. His elbow had hit the post hard and he rubbed it to try to stop the burst of pain as Jeremiah put his arm around Jed's shoulders.

  "Now, now, Jed, don't be too hard on him. You know he ain't right in the head. Let's go get drink." He tossed Jasper a glare behind Jed's back as he steered them both into the house. Jasper waited until the door shut before slumping down on the steps. He stared at the path Connor and Amos had taken, wishing he'd gone with them.

  Chapter 8

  "The devil take this place!" Charity slapped at her skirts as she mounted the steps, sending clouds of dust billowing around her. She sighed and looked out across the brown grass toward the corral. David leaned against the fence chatting with the hired men about some ranch nonsense or other. His already blond hair was bleached nearly white from the heat of the summer sun and his once soft hands were rough from days of hard labor.

  Six months. She cringed at the thought. It had been six months since she foolishly allowed herself to be pulled into his web. It had been six months since she had become a Banks, a member of the richest family in New York City. And it had been six months since her father-and mother-in-law had packed her and her new husband onto a one-way train headed west, with David's full consent.

  The wealth was still there. She could buy anything she wanted, and she was by far the best dressed woman in that tiny little frontier town. She could order anything she wanted from her catalogs that she had shipped in from back east. But society? Charity snorted and crossed her arms tightly across her chest as she flopped into one of the wooden rocking chairs on the porch. The closest thing Dixonville came to society was the monthly social the local church ladies held, and those women treated her as if she were the scum of the earth. A transplant know-nothing who wasn't worth their time.

  Her heart fell even further in her chest as she stared at her husband. He barely acknowledged her existence anymore. His time was consumed with the ranch. They had not spoken two words to each other in days.

  Her lips pressed together in a tight frown. She did not deserve to be treated like that. She wasn't just an ornament that could be tossed aside when its owner had finished with it. And she did not deserve to be schlepped away to some backwater dirt hole in the middle of nowhere.

  Charity pushed herself to her feet. "David!" She mustered all the sweetness she could and plastered on a smile as she leaned against the railing. When he didn't turn, she called his name again. "David!" This time she put a little force behind the word, using a tone that she was quickly gaining practice with.

  He glanced over his shoulder and raised a hand. "I'll be in a little later, darlin'," he shouted back before returning his attention to the ranch hands.

  Charity's nostrils flared. The anger that was quickly becoming her only friend seethed in her chest and made her insides churn. She clenched her teeth tightly and closed her eyes. After several deep breaths, she opened them in time to see a light blue skirt disappear behind a door to her right.

  A snarl pulled at Charity's lips. The kitchen maid was a weaselly, sniveling young woman who was always after David's affections. When they first arrived, the girl had been the closest thing to a friend Charity had, but as the months wore on and Charity needed a confidant, it became clear where the maid's loyalties lay.

  "Isabelle!"

  The young woman squeaked as she turned. She almost dropped the plate she was holding. It was filled with food.

  The anger in Charity's gut churned and roiled. She took a step toward the girl. "Where are you going with that plate?" she asked as she forced a tight smile to her lips. She already knew the answer, though. They both knew Isabelle wasn't fooling anyone.

  "Mr. David asked me to bring it out. He wants to eat in the barn so he can keep working." The girl refused to meet her eyes. She found the cracks in the floorboards infinitely more interesting than Charity's bright red face.

  "Did he now?" David had been eating out in the barn nearly every night for the last two weeks. He was avoiding Charity, and she was at the end of her rope.

  Charity snatched the plate from the girl. "I will take it to him. Thank you."

  The maid bowed quickly and darted into the small pantry. There was nowhere for her to go in there, but she shut the door behind her and hid until Charity left.

  Charity slammed out the kitchen door. The porch wrapped around the whole house and she stomped soundly the whole way with her boots thudding on the wood. David was still leaning against the fence, chatting and laughing with the hired hands.

  Charity sauntered up to them and smiled sweetly. The ranch hands nodded politely and mumbled a greeting even as their eyes glittered with amusement. They knew what was coming and couldn't wait for the show. She would give them what they wanted.

  She sidled up next to David and held out the plate. “For you, my darling.” She batted her lashes and held her smile firmly in place. He stared at her for a moment before reaching out to take it. Her fingers opened and the plate tumbled to the ground, spilling its contents everywhere..

  "Oops," she said, the smile never leaving her face. With a not-so-apologetic shrug, she turned and walked back to the house with her head held high. The hearty chuckles of the ranch hands followed her all the way to the steps.

  Isabelle was out of the cupboard when Charity came back in the house. "I'll take my supper now, Isabelle."

  She heard some banging and scampering in the kitchen as she settled into her chair in the dining room. The setting sun streamed onto the table. Charity gazed out the window and curled her nose. Fields as far as the eye could see. The nearest neighbor was more than an hour's carriage ride away. Not that she would ever visit them by choice. The woman was a breeding factory. They had six children already and another on the way. She fawned over her husband, who adored her just the same, and it was the picture perfect family. David hadn't touched Charity in months. Every child reminded her of her failed marriage. She would just as soon stay away from everyone as subject herself to that again.

  "M'lady." Isabelle kept her eyes on the table as she set the plate in front of Charity.

  Charity picked up her fork and knife as she examined the plate. Roasted chicken, corn, and some green stuff that she didn't recognize. She poked at it with her fork.

  "It's greens, m'lady."

  Charity curled her nose. "I know what it is. And you know I don't like them."

  "Yes, m'lady. Mr. David asked for them."

  Charity's teeth clenched so hard they ground audibly. Isabelle had put them on her plate on purpose, out of pure spite. The anger boiled over and got the better of her. "Hold out your hand."

  Isabelle hesitated. “I'm sorry, ma'am?”

  Charity turned her head slowly and caught the maid in her glare. “I said... Hold... Out... Your... Hand.”

  She stared the girl down as a shaking hand slowly made its way toward the table. Charity snatched it and jerked it over so it was facing palm up. Then she scooped the greens off her plate with her fork and plopped them right onto Isabelle's waiting hand.

  The young woman gasped as the hot food scalded her skin. The look of sheer horror on her face cooled Charity's anger a bit, but she forced back the guilt that was rising in her chest. She let the woman stand there with the burning pain for another thirty seconds before she waved at her with her fork.

  “Well?”

  Isabelle's mouth snapped shut and she scampered out of the dining room into the kitchen. Charity allowed he
rself a small, bitter smile. It felt good to have power, even if it was just over someone like Isabelle. She was sure she'd hear about it from David in the morning, but at least it would force him to talk to her.

  Charity finished her dinner and left the plate for Isabelle to clean up. In the sitting room, she wandered around, looking at the few books on the sparse shelves. She loved the sight of them, but she had already read the ones she could read and David wouldn't help her with the others. She trailed her fingers along their spines. She pulled out one book and thumbed through it before putting it back. David had refused to buy her more that she could read, instead holding to his father's claims that women didn't need to read. She decided she didn't care what he thought. On their next trip into town, she was going to buy more, regardless of his wishes.

  With a small sense of satisfaction at her rebellious decision, she sat in her chair and picked up her sewing. She stared at the half-finished piece for awhile and set it back down. Then she went to the back window and watched the wheat sway gently to the horizon. She wandered to the front window and watched one of the hired men working with the new colt David had purchased from a neighbor.

  The sun went down and the night grew dark. Charity sighed. She missed the constant light of the city. The night here was so dark, so quiet. She would wake in the middle of the night to nothing, the sound of absolute silence. She had never been a fearful child, but as she stared out into the blackness surrounding them, her heart sped up. Anything could lurk in the dark, waiting to prey on someone as innocent as she was.

  She shuddered and turned from the window. Soft sounds echoed from the kitchen. Isabelle was cleaning up and preparing for the next day. David had not yet returned to the house. With a snort of irritation, Charity stomped upstairs. She got her nightclothes on and let her hair down, then she climbed into bed and snuggled down under the covers.

  Her thoughts and dreams swirled together in a confusing mess that alternately left her with feelings of fear, anger, and hate. She woke sometime later in blackness. David was still gone. Voices floated to her from outside. Her room was on the side of the house near the barns, so she crawled from bed and looked out. Torches blazed over near the corral. She saw shadows moving around. A lot of them.

  She pulled on a shawl and padded carefully downstairs. Isabelle was there, crouched behind the door. She jumped and squeaked as Charity came up behind her. Her eyes were wide and the light from the torches flickered in them.

  The young woman pressed a finger to her lips. "I think it's bandits, m'lady."

  "Bandits?" Charity leaned against the window frame and peered out into the shadows. Bodies milled about, but there was no yelling or gunfire. "They don't look like bandits. I'm going to find out what's going on."

  "No, miss, don't!" Isabelle grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back, but Charity swatted at her hand and narrowed her eyes until the hand released its grip.

  She yanked open the door and stepped onto the porch. Her heart sped up and tried to jump into her throat, but she forced herself to move forward. A shadow broke away from the area near the corral and walked quickly toward her.

  It was David. "Go back into the house, Charity." His face was pale in the limited light. Something dark stained his shirt but she couldn't see what it was from that distance.

  "David--"

  "Go back in the house." He didn't shout, but his voice carried a commanding tone that Charity had never heard before.

  Hurt and shame flooded over her. Her mouth worked for a few seconds before she turned and ran back to the house. She slammed the door open and Isabelle jumped back just in time.

  "Go to bed," Charity snarled as she stomped to the stairs. She ripped the shawl off her shoulders and threw it in the corner. She climbed back into bed and fumed while trying to fight back the tears that threatened to overtake her. She fell asleep listening to the voices outside.

  She woke hours later. A lantern burned on a table in the corner, casting an eerie glow around the room. Charity stretched and rolled over.

  David sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He was still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the day before and smelled terrible.

  "David?"

  He didn't move. In the dark, she couldn't even see him breathe. Her own breath quickened along with her heart as she leaned forward. She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed gently.

  "David, darling, are you all right?"

  He finally moved as she pulled at him. His head tilted to the side to stare at her hand, then he slowly spun it around. His eyes were dull, not the vibrant blue they normally were. Something black and shiny marred his beautiful face and stained his lips. She raised her hand to his cheek and brushed at it. Her fingers came away wet and in the candlelight, she saw they were dark red. The color of blood.

  She jerked her hand away and scooted toward the other side of the bed. "David? What's going on," she whispered in a voice that was tight and terrified.

  His mouth worked slowly as he stared at her, as if he were trying to form words that would not come. A strange gurgling groan rumbled up from his throat and his tongue lolled out to lick the black goo on his lips. He blinked at her, in slow motion. She didn't even have time to scream as he lunged for her throat.

  Chapter 9

  Charity's entire body ached. She opened her eyes and blinked into the sunlight that was streaming through the window. It hurt. A lot. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the painful rays. "Ugh." She grimaced. Even her throat hurt. It ached as if she'd been screaming for hours on end with no respite and a deep pain throbbed near her shoulder.

  She groaned and pressed the back of her free hand to her cheek. What was she doing last night? She thought back to the weird nightmares that had haunted her sleep. She laughed at her silliness. She was mad at David, and for what? Because of a stupid dream? He would never really bite her, would he? Of course not.

  Her hand trailed down her face to find her throat. Tiny shocks of pain radiated out from the deep, ragged holes her fingers found there. Her hand dropped and she sat up straight, the pain in her head all but forgotten.

  She was still in her bedroom, alone. The candle that had been burning on the dresser had melted into a hard pool of wax. Dark, shiny spots marred the normally spotless floor. Her nostrils flared as a coppery scent assaulted her. Her stomach rumbled at the same time.

  With great effort, she moved to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor. It took two tries, but she finally pushed herself to her feet. She was unsteady and wobbled for a moment before regaining her balance. It felt like years since she had used her legs. She was weak, like a toddler just learning to walk. With a flash of annoyance, she took a tentative step forward. Her bare toes landed in one of the dark pools on the floor. She moved them experimentally. It was sticky and thick.

  "Disgusting," she whispered as her stomach rumbled once more.

  She stopped and stared at her naked foot. Since moving out west, her skin had darkened considerably to an unpleasant tan color that she grew to loathe. But her foot wasn't that dark tan. It was sickly gray in the morning light. She raised her hand. It had the same pale gray hue, too. Charity walked across the room to the mirror. Her scream lodged in her throat. Her hair was a matted mess and her face and upper body were covered in drying blood. A chunk of flesh was missing from her neck and every piece of visible skin was a shade of gray that she had only seen on her dead grandmother. Even her eyes were missing their usual blue sparkle.

  She gripped the dresser and gasped for air. She felt sick, and hungry. Her eyes roved around the room and landed on the open doorway. Only then did she notice the bloody footprints retreating out into the hallway. The boot prints matched David's. Fear hovered in her stomach as faint voices echoed up to her from below. She cupped her hands over her mouth and thought frantically.

  "What is going on?" she whispered to herself. "This is crazy." She looked in the mirror again and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Sh
e stared at herself for several seconds. Then she straightened her shoulders. "Stop this," she said. "You're a grown woman. Act like it."

  She picked up the pitcher on the stand under the mirror and poured some water into the basin. With a cloth she pulled from the drawer, she washed herself up as best she could in the small space, then she straightened her hair and put on a clean dress. When she was finished, she looked in the mirror again.

  She still felt like walking death and didn't look much better. Her fingers poked at her cheeks as she stared at her horrific visage. Was it the plague? She didn't feel sick. She felt hungry, voraciously hungry. She wanted to vomit, but it was more from looking at herself than from actually feeling sick. With an annoyed sigh, she pulled at the high collar on the dress. It covered most of the wound on her neck, which was at least something. She prodded the holes again. The pain there had disappeared. She shrugged her shoulders and wiggled her hips. All traces of pain were gone. She had woken up stiff and horribly sore, but nothing hurt anymore. Even more confused than before, she stared at the holes.

  "It wasn't David," she whispered at herself in the mirror. Her image was as unconvinced as she was. Charity bit her lip. "Am I dreaming?" She bit her lip again, harder. Her teeth pierced the skin, bit all the way through, but that was it. She pulled her lip out and looked at it in the mirror. There was definitely a hole, but something was missing. She had bitten her lip before, many times. It always bled. She could imagine the coppery tang on her tongue even now. The thought of blood in her mouth made her hungrier.

  "Ugh, gross." She shook her head and gave herself a scalding look before deciding she needed to go downstairs and find out what was going on.

  Charity tiptoed around the blood on the floor and pulled the door open again. The voices were gone and it was all quiet downstairs. She had been in the house for six months, long enough to know where all the squeaky boards were. She made it to the bottom of the stairs without making a sound.