The bottle moved from his hands. "Avery's special whiskey? Uh oh." Connor's head rolled to the side to glare at the intruder. Cora grinned at him. "Bad day, little brother?"
He shrugged as he took in her appearance. Emerald dress that fell off the shoulders, way too much paint on her face. He blinked at her and his eyelids felt heavy. His eyes trailed to the bottle she held in her hand. It was nearly gone. Only a few sips were left in the bottom.
"Hey," he complained as he reached for it. " 'At's mine. You drank too much." His lips were fat and his tongue stuck in his mouth as he spoke.
Cora's laugh held no humor as she pulled the bottle further out of his reach. He propped himself against the bar and tried to grab it from her. His hands felt like lead. She swatted his arm playfully. "That was all you, dear boy."
He tried to protest as she put the bottle to her lips and drank down what was left, but his teeth collided with his tongue and he couldn't get the words out. His finger wiggled in a feeble attempt to scold her.
She grinned at him, but her eyes didn't twinkle like they usually did. "Oops, sorry. All gone." She was mad, and he knew it. She slid the bottle to the bartender and fixed the man with a glare that Connor was sure he wasn't supposed to see. Avery took the bottle and avoided Cora's gaze like it was a viper's bite. He scooted as far down the bar as he could and busied himself with wiping a spot that was already clean. "Come on," Cora said to her brother. "Let's get you home."
The world didn't want to stay upright as Connor let Cora lead him out into the night. It took them three times as long as it should have to get to the jailhouse and Cora's beautiful shoes were scuffed with marks from Connor's boots, but they made it one piece. She took off his coat and gun belt and hung them by the door as he lay on the stairs and waited for her to finish. It wasn't the first time she'd had to help him home, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. Next, she pulled his hat off his head. He didn't have the energy to hold his head up and his skull banged into the stairs behind him.
He groaned and rubbed the quickly growing lump behind his ear. "Ow," he moaned as she pulled him into a standing position. She hefted him up and they stumbled up the stairs. Snores could be heard from the closed door on the right. "Amos is such a good boy," Connor muttered as the door tried to turn sideways.
"Yes, he is." Cora turned him around so he was facing the open door to his bedroom. She half dragged him across the floor and dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed. He was snoring before she had his boots off.
****
Hours later, Connor snorted and jerked awake. The dream he had every night pulled him from a deep sleep and ruined any chance he had at going back there. It was always the same.
A cloud of dust billowed up from the trail that curved around the hill. Connor stood up and the grin plastered on his face grew bigger. Lydia was coming home. She had been gone for over a month visiting her dying grandfather in a town far away. Now he was gone and she was coming home. To him, to Connor.
The stage coach came into view. The top was laden with trunks and bags. Two men sat in front, one driving, one carrying a loaded shotgun. Connor looked around. Where was his horse? He was sure it had been right there. He shrugged and started down the hill on foot. He was halfway to the trail when several horses broke from the trees on the other side of the road.
Connor reached for his gun, but all he found was empty air. He stopped and stared at his waist. His belt was gone. He glanced back up the hill, but didn't see it anywhere. It had just disappeared.
A shot echoed off the hills behind him. He turned back toward the stage coach in time to see the man holding the shotgun tumble from the seat. He landed on the ground in front of the wheel and it ran him over as he screamed. The driver pulled the horses to a stop and the attackers surrounded the stage coach. Connor tried to shout at the men. He tried to run toward them, to draw their attention, to make them stop, but he was rooted in place. His feet were chunks of immovable stone and his throat was sealed shut. He waved his arms, but no one paid any attention to him.
He watched as the passengers were pulled from inside the stage coach. Lydia, her mother, and her father stood in a line beside the stage coach. Her father's change purse was taken from him, as was her mother's jewelry. The trunks were dropped to the ground and searched for valuables. Then one of the men stepped up to Lydia. He put his hands on her and pulled her to him. She resisted. She beat against him with her fists. The man backhanded her. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the ribs.
Connor screamed, but the scream was inside his head. No sound left his mouth.
The man kicked her again and again until she was spitting up blood. Her mother and father were screaming. Connor could hear their cries from where he stood. But they weren't moving, either. They couldn't stop the man. He turned and looked up at the hill behind him, at Connor.
Jed Gaines grinned as their eyes met. It was a vicious, evil grin, full of sick joy and hate. Connor had seen that grin before, when they were boys. They were playing down by the river and found an injured doe. She had a broken leg and couldn't walk. Connor pulled his knife and was going to put her out of her misery, but Jed stopped him. He wanted to play with her. He had that same grin then. Connor could only watch for a few minutes before he had to leave. He left Jed there by the river with the doe. He heard her cries halfway back to town.
And now Lydia was the doe. She was lying broken on the ground and her cries ripped through Connor's head. Jed waved at him and pulled his gun. He pointed it at Lydia. Connor clenched his teeth and waited for what was to come, what always came. But instead, Jed's gun slipped from his hand and drool dribbled from his mouth. He didn't shoot the girl like he always had in previous dreams. This time, he snarled and turned on her. His teeth sank into the soft flesh at her throat even as his companions threw themselves at her parents. Blood sprayed into the air in thick columns.
"No!" Connor shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. He sank back onto the pillow and sighed. "Shit," he said as he ran a hand through his sopping wet hair.
With a groan, he rolled to a seated position and rested his head in his hands. It had been years since he had had a solid night's sleep, and that wasn't all because Amos was snoring like a steam engine in the room across the hall. The dream was always the same, ever since he heard rumors that Jed Gaines and his brothers were involved in the attack on the stage coach that killed Lydia and her parents. But this time...
Connor grunted and shoved himself to his feet. "No more drinking before bed," he grumbled as he reached for his boots.
Cora had left his pants on, but she had removed his outer shirt for him. He grabbed it off the hook by the door and buttoned it as he clomped down the stairs. He left his coat where it was hanging on the hook but popped his hat on his head. Last but not least, he grabbed his belt and hooked it around his waist. He only felt whole with his gun by his side and his hat on his head.
He walked around back and relieved himself before he trudged inside. Instead of going back upstairs, he opened the door to the jailhouse and lit the lantern on his desk. He had some paperwork he still had to do from the brawl earlier, some legal mumbo-jumbo that was required back east on one of the men, so he kicked back in his chair at his desk and picked up the letter he had been working on. He stared at the page, but the words blurred into black squiggles. He put in a valiant effort, but his mind was still reeling from the dream. He tossed the paper back on the desk.
"Balls," he mumbled as he stood up. He walked out onto the porch. The torches up and down the street were lit, but it was late enough at night that everyone was in bed. Loud snores echoed from across the street and down two houses. Robert Zane, the butcher, was the noisiest man Connor had ever known. He was loud and boisterous, his laugh could be heard across town, and he was an even louder drunk. The man had spent more than one night in the jailhouse and Connor received complaints on a weekly basis from citizens who wanted his snoring to stop. But besides all that, Robe
rt was a good man that Connor would trust with his life. He treated his wife and kids well and he was always willing to lend a hand whenever anyone needed it. He gave deep discounts to the poorer residents in town, often earning a rebuke and complaint from the richer folk.
Connor's lips twitched into a brief smile as he stepped down onto the street. He walked up the street a ways, checking that his town was safe and sound, then he turned around and wandered back the other way. Not a thing moved. A few dogs lay on porches guarding their domain, but they were used to his late night ramblings and most didn't even open an eye to look at him. For a good half hour, Connor leaned against the post by the jailhouse. He listened to the night noises and chewed his lip as thoughts ran through his head.
A snort drew his attention. He glanced up. A horse was barely visible in the black on the edge of how far he could see. He pushed himself from the post and walked back inside to get his jacket. He slipped it on and tightened his belt. He drew his pistols and double-checked that they were loaded. Then he went out onto the porch to see what was going on.
Chapter 14
"We can't stay here." Charity paced in front of the cold fireplace. She was alone in the living room with Little Bear and Walton. It annoyed her to have to speak through a translator, but Little Bear's English was very minimal and she had no clue what language he even spoke. She had no interest in learning, either.
"What would you have us do? We cannot just attack towns like rogue bandits on the run."
She stopped and placed her fists on her hips. Standing in front of the chair, she could see the stain on the floor where Isabelle had died. Where she killed her. Charity's mouth watered just thinking of the delicious flesh.
"Charity."
Little Bear's voice snapped her back to the present and she angled herself so she could no longer see the dried blood. "We are running out of food," she continued. "We will not last here much longer. They are already getting restless. They want to hunt, they want to move. And besides, the cattle are disgusting. The meat doesn't taste right. It doesn't satisfy our hunger."
Little Bear laughed, but it held no humor, just annoyance. "No, it does not taste as good, but it supplies what we need. That is enough."
Charity growled. "Enough? What do you think we are? Animals? Lowly creatures who don't deserve to thrive? We have the power. Why don't we just go take a town? What can they do to us? Why do we sit here and suffer when--"
He smiled and cut her off with an upheld hand. "Have patience, my queen. We--"
"I know, I know. We will have our vengeance." Her tone was mocking. She scoffed at him. "It's not my vengeance. It's yours. And you've had it. You killed the men who killed your family and destroyed your village. You turned them into worthless creatures just like you. Good for you. Congratulations. Now what? You just want to wander all over the desert, afraid of everything, attacking little piddly farms and feeding on livestock?" She waved her arms in the air and began pacing again. "You were given a great gift! The chance to be better, to be more than what you were before. Why won't you use it? Why do you hide in shame instead of ruling the world like you're meant to?"
Little Bear's black hair floated in front of his face as he shook his head. "It was not meant for that, my queen."
"Stop calling me your queen. We don't have an empire to rule, so I can't be a queen and you can't be a king."
Little Bear stared at her for a long time before he spoke. "No, we do not have an empire. But we have a clan. We have people who are counting on us to lead them, to keep them alive."
Charity laughed. "They're mindless monsters. You're not keeping them alive. You're not leading them at all. All you're doing is keeping them penned up like animals. Like hungry, starving lions. They are turning on each other. There are too many and not enough food."
"We will move on shortly. My scouts are out looking for a new farmhouse, for a new place for us. We will leave when they return."
Charity shook her head and growled. "We need more than a farmhouse. We need a town! We need a good supply of food and more people to turn." She dropped to her knees in front of him and gripped his hands tightly in hers. "How do you not see what we can do? The possibilities are endless. We are powerful, more powerful than mere people. We can take over the West, we can make it our own. We can rule and be true royalty. Make me your queen for real."
Charity stared up into the red pits in the middle of Little Bear's face. She pleaded with him, she begged him. But he would not yield. "We are not an army, Charity. We will not become an army. We are creatures of vengeance, sent to mete out punishment on those who deserve it. We will not attack towns and villages that have done no wrong."
Charity clenched her teeth together and stood. "You are a fool and a hypocrite," she said. With one last glare, she turned from him and stomped out of the house into the darkness.
David sat on the porch, staring blankly into nothingness. Charity sat down beside him. "You agree with me, don't you, David?"
He grunted. That was the most he ever said anymore. He was never much of a talker, but now speaking to him was like having a conversation with a pig. But even a pig was more interesting. David just did what he was told and ate. He never moved aside from that. He was the perfect husband, exactly what any woman would want, obedient to the core, but now she realized she wanted something more. She needed a man who could stand beside her, someone who could stand up to her, but also someone who would share her vision for the future. Someone to fight the battles she started. She needed a warrior.
Little Bear was not a warrior. He sat in his chair pretending to rule over a horde of mindless beasts. He was a false king, nothing more. Charity needed a knight. She needed someone like herself. Someone who retained their intelligence after being bitten, someone who could think for themselves and actually do something worthwhile. She wouldn't find them here, not among the chattel of Little Bear's "clan".
Little Bear was so shortsighted. He couldn't see the future ahead of them. He couldn't plan for anything but their next meal. Charity wasn't at all like him. She had plans. She had always had plans, but now her plans were bigger. Much bigger. The moment she saw the horde of mindless creatures in the barn, the gears began to turn. He had called her his queen. She wouldn't be his queen. Not ever. She would be her own queen, the ruler of her very own nation.
She leaned back in her chair and smiled at David. "Thank you," she said.
He grunted again, but he didn't look at her. She smirked. He hadn't given her what she wanted, but he had inadvertently given her what she needed. She laughed as she thought of his parents back in New York, unaware of the fate of their son. Should she send them a letter? Advise them of his death? She shook her head. No. They didn't deserve it. Not after the way they treated her. The ranch would be deserted when Little Bear's group left. The weekly letters he wrote to his mother had already stopped. His family would go weeks, maybe months, without word from their youngest, dearest son. Then someday his father would send someone to check on them. But they would be gone. All of them. All that would be left behind would be blood and bones. She laughed. They would have no clue what happened to David. They would never even be able to guess.
Charity stifled a cackle. She had her revenge on his parents. Now she just needed to figure out how to handle Little Bear, how to usurp him and take over his small army, to make it her own. They would listen to her, she was sure. She was a better speaker than him and they already obeyed her instantly. But Little Bear was stronger than her physically. She had seen him snap the neck of one of the men without so much as straining a muscle. She needed to figure out how to catch him off guard, how to take him unawares.
She was pondering that when the scouts returned. It was dark and they shuffled along like the other mindless beasts. She heard the door open behind her. Little Bear came out, followed as always by Walton.
"Did you find anything?"
One of the men shuffled up to the bottom of the steps. He wasn't smart like she was, but he
wasn't totally stupid, either. He had retained a few of his memories and was good at following commands. She might make him one of her captains when she formed her army for real.
The man nodded. "A farmhouse. Two days from here. That way." He pointed behind the house.
"Were there people there?"
The man nodded again. "Two men. Four women."
Charity noticed the hesitation as the man spoke. Little Bear did, too. "And?"
"One boy and two women..." He paused and fidgeted.
"Well?"
"They escaped."
Little Bear's growl echoed across the flat land. "You let someone get away?"
"The boy was bitten." The man shrugged as if it made a difference.
Little Bear snarled and leapt off the porch. He grabbed the man and tore his head halfway off before tossing his body away. Charity sighed inwardly as she watched the body twitch on the ground. He would have made a good captain, she thought.
Little Bear turned to the others who stood behind the fallen man. "We never leave witnesses! Ever! They cannot know we exist. Go find them. Find the survivors and kill them."
The men shuffled away and Charity stood up. "It doesn't matter. The one who was bitten will turn. Then he will kill the others."
Little Bear turned on her. "And if he does not? If he turns them instead? Or if they reach town before he turns? Can you imagine what will happen then? No, you cannot. I thought you were smart, but you are very small-minded. You do not see beyond your own desires. You do not see what could befall us should we be discovered."
Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western Page 9