Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western

by Samantha Warren

  She cried into his shoulder for several minutes before she could articulate a sentence. "I have a bad feeling about all this, Connor. A very bad feeling."

  He pressed his lips to her hair, but said nothing. He had a bad feeling, too, and it just kept getting worse.

  ****

  The sun was up in the sky when the Crawford farm came into view. Amos raised his hand and pulled the group to a stop. The men huddled in a quiet group around him as their horses snorted and danced.

  "Finch, McKee, you boys head around to the left. Davey, Seb, go right. If anything seems off, you stay together and get the hell outta there. If things go bad, meet up at the bridge. Got it?"

  "What're we gonna do, boss?" Billy Teagan stared wide-eyed at the buildings in front of them. He had been joking about Amos, a boy half his age, being in charge the whole way there, but this time his voice held no trace of humor. He looked to the young man for real direction.

  Amos swallowed and sat up higher in his saddle. "Let's go. No point in dawdlin' around here all day, is there? We have stuff to do back in town." He kicked his horse into motion and clenched his teeth together as he rode straight toward the house.

  The horses shivered as they got closer to the buildings, but none of them tried to bolt and nothing else moved. He could see Paul Finch and Longtooth McKee as they approached the barn. The Anders boys had swung around toward the fields. Amos dismounted in front of the house and tied his horse up to the hitching post. He narrowed his eyes at the front porch. A long rusty brown streak trailed across it from the door to the stairs. It disappeared in the dust at the bottom of the steps. His stomach lurched and he took several deep breaths to steady himself. When he turned, the two men were staring slack-jawed at the blood.

  "Billy, you stay out here, keep an eye out. Give us a call if anything funny happens."

  "Aye, boss." Billy pulled his pistol from his belt and double-checked it. Then he turned away from the mess and scanned the horizon.

  Norman Baker was right on Amos's heels as they walked into the small house. A small bed sat untouched in a corner and the cast iron stove was cold. The dining table was covered with the Crawford's uneaten dinner. It had been knocked askew and several plates lay smashed to bits amid moldy food on the floor. The blood trail led from one of the bedrooms. "Stay here," Amos commanded. "Watch my back."

  Norman's gun was already out and Amos heard it click as he cocked it. The deputy sent up a tiny prayer that Baker wasn't trigger-happy. He moved toward the open door and peered around the frame. It was trashed. The bed was flipped on its side and blood was everywhere. The curtain on the window flapped in a light breeze. Holding his gun up and ready, he edged toward the bed. He counted to three before stepping around it, ready to fire, but his shoulders relaxed when he found nothing. The room was empty.

  He walked back out into the main room. Norman's finger twitched on the hammer, but the man kept his cool enough to not shoot the deputy. "All clear in there. I'm gonna check this one."

  Norman nodded. He was wound as tight as a spring, but so far he was keeping his head. Amos laid his hand on the closed door and slowly turned the knob. When it clicked open, he listened carefully for any noises inside. It was silent, so he pushed the door open all the way. There was a big bed in the middle of the room and a dresser along one wall. He checked underneath the bed. It was clear aside from an empty leather sack. He grabbed the bag and turned to the dresser. He didn't know which clothes belonged to who, so he just filled the sack with whatever he could find and pulled it closed. Then he swung the bag over his shoulder and walked out of the house.

  "What do you see?" he asked Billy as Norman followed him out.

  "S'all quiet right now, boss, but Finch and McKee disappeared into the barn and I ain't seen hide nor hair of 'em since."

  "Let's check it out." He tied the sack to the back of his saddle before heading toward the barn.

  Near the doors, they found a big brown stain on the dirt. "This must be where Abraham died," he murmured as he stared at it. Glancing around, he found pieces of clothing and a long bone, but nothing else of note. He pressed his lips together and turned away. He held his gun up as he pushed open the door. It creaked loudly and he cringed. After checking that Billy and Norman were right behind him, he inched inside.

  The interior of the barn was dark. He found a lantern hanging on a hook and used Billy's matches to light it. The lantern flared to life and cast an eerie glow on the area around then. Bones, dried blood, and rags littered the space. A boot lay next to one of the stalls. Abraham Crawford's boot. The foot was still attached, but it was rotting quickly. A faint sound echoed from the other side of the stall wall. With careful, quiet steps, he walked toward the stall and peered over the short wall.

  Phyllis Crawford, or what was left of her, lay on her back. Her lower half was missing completely, along with one arm and part of her chest. She flailed her remaining arm weakly, whether trying to turn over or reach for him, he did not know. The left side of her jaw was missing, along with her tongue. Her mouth worked, as if she was trying to speak, but all that came out were muted moans. Her mottled eyes stared at him with a hunger that set his adrenaline racing.

  "Oh, Lord in heaven." Billy Teagan was never a man of God, but when Amos turned around, he found the old troublemaker on his knees with his hands folded. Norman Baker ran to the door and wretched outside.

  Amos backed away and shut the door. Phyllis wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to check the rest of the barn before he figured out what to do with her. A faint glow lit up the barn at the far end.

  "Billy, come on." Amos raised his weapon again and walked toward the light. "Paul, is that you?" he called as he neared the other side of the barn.

  The only response he received was a low groan. He tried again. "McKee? You down there?"

  The stalls ended near the door and made way for a small storage room. Amos crept to the side and peered around the last stall. The door to the room was half open, moving back and forth slightly. Small grunts came from inside. "Paul?"

  He sidestepped toward the door. Booted feet were sticking out from behind it, jerking back and forth in random fashion. "Shit," Billy whispered behind him. He echoed the sentiment. Amos nudged the door with his foot. It didn't move, but the grunts stopped. He glanced back at Billy, who held his gun higher and nodded.

  Amos stepped up to the door and placed his hand on it. He was about to shove it when a man, one he had never seen before, moved out from the shadows. The man snarled at him and lurched forward. Billy's gun went off behind him and he felt a seering pain in his back. He jerked to the side, just out of the reach of the dead man. Billy fired again and hit the man in the chest.

  "The head," cried Amos. "Shoot him in the head!"

  He leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his stomach as he leveled his gun. He fired. A hole blossomed between the man's eyes and he dropped like a rock. Screams tore through the barn from the other end.

  "Oh, God. Norman!" Billy glanced at Amos with wide, fearful eyes.

  "Go!" Amos waved his gun in the direction of the other door. "I got this."

  He wasn't sure if he had it or not, but Billy had shot him, and didn't even realize it. He didn't want the man's gun anywhere near him. He glanced up just in time to see another of the undead shambling around the door. It was a woman and her face was covered in blood. He leveled his gun at her and shot her through the left eye. She tumbled forward and landed in a heap on top of the man.

  Blood coated his hand and his body felt like he was on fire, but he pushed himself away from the wall. Inside the small room, a lantern lay on its side, flickering in the dark. Two bodies were on the ground beside it. Paul Finch and Longtooth McKee.

  "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." He pressed his gun hand to his head and closed his eyes.

  Billy's gun barked outside. Once. Twice. Then it was replaced with some of the most awful screams Amos had ever heard. He stumbled out of the room and leaned against the wall as he made
his way toward the closest door. Outside, the screams were louder, vibrating through the air like terrible church bells.

  He walked toward the screams, using the outside of the barn to support himself. When he reached the corner, he peered around. Billy's screams had stopped. His body lay on the ground next to Norman's. Neither of them put up a fight as two men chewed on their flesh.

  The undead had their backs to Amos so he stepped out from his hiding area to survey his options. A body lay on the other side of the corral, Davey Anders. His brother Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. His horse danced on the hitching post, trying to break free. The others had already ripped their reins and were racing off into the wild.

  The deputy's eyes darted from his horse to the men in front of him. He didn't think he'd be able to make it, but he sure as hell was going to try. He pushed away from the wall and staggered forward. His stomach was pouring blood and he left a trail behind him. It drew him unwanted attention.

  A snarl alerted him to the creature. He glanced back as it pulled away from Billy's leg and started to rise. Amos threw his gun away and pressed both of his hands to his stomach. As he half shuffled, half ran, he whistled the special whistle he had always reserved for his beloved horse. She jerked her head toward him, and the motion unraveled the reins. She danced for a second, torn between running away or running toward the man she had devoted her life to.

  Training won out over instinct and she sped toward him. He cried out as the pain in his abdomen multiplied as he moved toward her, but he didn't stop. He gripped the saddle and pulled himself up just as the man came within reach. She didn't need any prodding. Her hoof came out and connected with the creature as it lunged. It sailed through the air and crashed into the fence. Then the horse turned toward Lonesome Ridge and took off in an all-out gallop.

  Amos pressed one arm to his stomach and the other clung to the horse's mane. He prayed he would make it to town before it was too late.

  Chapter 25

  Summer Rain stared at the scrawny coyote who stood on the hill just below her. Its jaw was open and saliva dripped from its teeth as she tore another chunk of tender flesh from the still body in her hands. She chewed and he drooled, two beasts aware of their stations in life. She was the hunter, predator of the most dangerous prey. He was a scavenger, feeding on the weak and the dead. She had seen him before. He followed her trail and feasted on her leavings.

  The young woman ran her tongue around the outside of her mouth to gather up the last drops of blood before she tossed the small carcass down the hill. The coyote snarled and jumped back. For the briefest of moments, he readied an attack, his back hunched and his fur bristled, his deadly gaze locked on Summer Rain. Then he turned his attention to the still warm flesh nearby. With a savagery Summer Rain could appreciate, he leapt at the body and sank his sharp teeth into it with fervor.

  Summer Rain watched him for a few minutes before she looked up at the sky. The sun was coming over the horizon and it was already growing too warm for her tastes. She stood up and wandered away from the coyote toward a thick clump of bushes at the base of the hill. Dropping to her hands and knees, she pushed aside the biting branches and crawled into the dark interior.

  This was a familiar routine to her. It had been a long time since she had taken shelter inside a building or tent. The wilderness was her home. It was where she belonged. She was a predator, a killer. Her sole goal in life was to wreak havoc on those around her. Especially the white men.

  A snarl escaped her lips as she thought of the vile beasts who had destroyed her family. She wanted nothing more than to make them pay, all of them. Every last pale skinned monstrosity deserved to rot in the sun, or to suffer like she had.

  Little Bear had wanted that at first, too. Together, they tracked down the soldiers who destroyed their village. They found them in a clearing not too far from another village. It was a band of some of the most ruthless white men the earth could create: former soldiers, outlaws, men of general ill repute. Summer Rain would have found the camp appalling if she had not been changed. Bodies of men hung from poles in the middle of the camp, guilty of some crime or another against the man who called himself the leader. The women in the camp were no better than the men. They were whores who threw themselves on the men at every opportunity, or worse, slaves who had no choice in the matter.

  Summer Rain and Little Bear made the wicked men and women pay for their misdeeds. They sent them to their own hell as screams tore from their bloody lips. It was a glorious, joyful day when the parched earth drank up the blood of their victims. Summer Rain had never felt so alive, so completely and utterly at peace with herself and the way of the world. As she ripped through bodies and chased down anyone who tried to run, she knew she had found her place in the world. She was happy at last.

  But once that was over, once the men who took her previous life from her were gone, it all changed. She shared her dream with Little Bear, a dream to take back their lands from the white man and create a new world. The look of pure horror on his face was forever etched in her withering heart. She was glad he did not have eyes. She could not bear to think what would have been in them.

  She stayed with him for a long time after that, more out of habit and a strange sense of loyalty to the past than anything else. Her initial guilt at his reaction to her plan overshadowed the truth of what they were, she knew. She let it keep her pinned to him, to his unfathomable desire to hide from the world. As they wandered the lands, they turned others like them, but Little Bear's fear kept him from seeing their true potential. Any who turned with more than a modicum of intelligence were immediately destroyed. Little Bear carried a strength greater than all of them and they were no match for him. He only kept those mindless creatures who had little or no memory of their past, who had little desire to achieve anything but their next meal.

  He preferred those like Walton, a former soldier who had run away from his army out of fear. Summer Rain hated the man the moment she met him. He was weak, even before he was turned. He was sniveling and scared of everything. The only good thing about him was that he was an interpreter, able to speak their language. She hated the white man's tongue and it hurt her throat to speak it.

  "Weakling," she muttered. She wasn't sure if she was talking about Little Bear or Walton. Or herself, for allowing herself to be ruled by them for so long.

  She slapped a branch and hissed when it moved aside to let the sun burn her eyes. She rolled over and lay her head on the soft grass.

  She thought of the man she had encountered earlier in the day, the cowboy she bit. Jeremiah, they had called him. He was stupid, like the rest. All she ever had to do was stand in the middle of the road and wait for them to come to her. They always did. It was a game she played. The more men in the party, the more dangerous the game, and the more enjoyable. Usually she could take them all out fairly easily. They were fooled by her small stature, by the fact that she was a woman. They underestimated her and it often led to their violent, bloody end.

  Occasionally they got away, but never unscathed. She would track them and take them down when she could, but if she was truly outmatched, she would follow until she could separate them, or leave to roam the wilds forever. She was sure there were more like her wandering the plains, searching for food. On occasion, she would be sure to bite them at the very least. Once in a great while she would encounter one of those she had turned. They were often wandering lost and alone, confused, driven only by their hunger. She would attack them with vigor. They were always more of a challenge than the mere men were and it was a much better fight. There were times she was sure she was going to lose, but she always got the upper hand and took them down in the end.

  She contemplated not killing them, from time to time. She was lonely and longed for companionship. But in the end, her predatory nature took over. None of those she met was worthy of being her equal and she simply could not abide that. No, she would not allow herself to fall into that trap again.

  Summ
er Rain sighed again and waited for the sun to go down. As soon as the painful rays dropped below the horizon, she crawled out from underneath the bushes and began walking in the direction opposite Lonesome Ridge. It was the same direction the two men had taken when they left town on their horses. She half hoped she could find them, if only to see the one turn on his brother.

  She wandered along the hillside, keeping the road below in sight. She spotted the dust cloud long before the group that made it became visible. Crouching beside a large pine, she stared at the figures. They shuffled along at a slow, but steady pace. It didn't take her long to realize they were all like her. All of them had been turned.

  Several of the men were hooked up like horses and pulled a carriage along behind them. She gasped and her hand went to her mouth before she could stop it. A strange sensation floated in her belly. Hope.

  "Little Bear?" she whispered, but even as she spoke, the feeling faded. It couldn't be him, she knew. He would never travel along a main road. It was too risky and he was scared and weak. She berated herself for even thinking about him.

  Her curiosity grew as she watched the band of creatures shamble by. The carriage was curtained and she could not see inside. Her interest was piqued and she followed the group for a long time. As they rounded a corner in the road, one of the carriage's wheels lodged in a deep rut and someone inside called a halt. She watched as a man descended the steps, a man she could never mistake for anyone else. A man she hated. Summer Rain crept closer. She narrowed her eyes and peered down the hill. The hopeful little quiver returned.

  "Walton." If it was the soldier, Little Bear's closest confidant, then Little Bear must be nearby. Walton would never leave his master's side.

  She used boulders and trees for cover as she darted down the side of the hill toward the caravan. Most of the men and women wandered off into the woods, likely looking for food. She crouched under a bush as several of them shambled by, completely unaware of her existence. She sneered at their stupidity. If she were in charge, those would have been the creatures to be put down, not the intelligent ones.