The Battle of Zombie Hill

by Nancy Osa

  “Okay, Meat.”

  Turner stomped off. The gang returned to the trail.

  Along the way, Frida used a pair of shears she’d brought to cut grass. Every now and then she’d give a happy, little cry and collect some seeds, which she stored in her inventory. “If we’re going to have a string of horses, we’re going to need something to feed them, wherever we go.”

  “Good thinking,” Rob said.

  They stopped at a watering hole to give Beckett a drink. Sure enough, the palomino horse waded all the way in, soaking his rider up to his chest. Jools just laughed. Prickly though he was with people, the guy loved his horse.

  As Beckett splashed about, the group heard a rumbling, which grew louder and louder.

  “Thunder?” Frida guessed.

  Stormie checked the sky. “Without any rain or lightning?”

  Just then, a passive animal mob raced toward the group, manes and tails streaming in the wind. Beckett called out to them with his highest-pitched whinny. He must have said the right thing, because the herd approached at a gallop and skidded to a stop at the edge of the watering hole.

  The mob milled around a minute, until a black horse separated itself, walked into the water first, and took a drink. The rest followed, slurping their fill while the black horse stood guard.

  “That’s the one I want,” Turner whispered.

  “He’s the boss,” Rob said. “The others will act on his lead.”

  “Then that’s the one we want to tame first,” Jools pointed out. He took some planks and sticks from his inventory and crafted a series of fences, which he fashioned into a corral. He handed Stormie a stick and had her stand at the opening to make a gate once they had lured a horse inside.

  “Me first!” Turner insisted.

  The wild herd had finished with the water and stood next to the pond, grazing. Turner walked up to the black horse, and without so much as an introduction, sprang onto its back. He grabbed a hunk of black mane and said, “Giddyup!”

  A half second later, he was staring up at his friends from the ground, waiting for his vision to clear. “What the—?”

  Jools smirked. “Perhaps you’d best try that one, Rob.”

  Rob had been sizing up the herd boss, a black stallion with a white star on its forehead and white socks on its hind legs. It reminded him of his trusty horse, Pistol, back home: smart, confident, and not about to take orders from a lesser being.

  “Anybody got any sugar?” Rob asked.

  “Always.” Jools tossed him a piece.

  Rob took the sugar inside the corral and sat down on the ground, his back to the black horse. He began to hum tunelessly under his breath.

  Turner folded his arms, certain that the cowboy was giving up before he’d even begun. Frida and Jools, though, sensed what he was up to and gravitated toward the fence, settling themselves on a cross rail to watch. Stormie held the “gate” at the ready.

  At first, the black horse paid them no mind, continuing to graze or nip at one of the other beasts when it got too close to his eating spot. As Rob rolled the block of sugar around in his hand, though, he caught the horse’s attention. Little by little, the distance between them narrowed as the black horse sidled toward the corral, then through the opening, then up to Rob’s back.

  At last, Rob could feel him breathing down his neck. “Now!” he cried, and Stormie slid the gate shut.

  The horse quickly assessed his new situation, eyeing the fence and the sugar in Rob’s hand. Making up his mind, he ducked for Rob, snatched the sugar, and dashed for the fence, jumping it handily. The stallion rejoined his herd and went back to grazing as if nothing had happened.

  Groans rose from the group outside the fence. Turner scratched his head and said, “This is more complicated than I thought.”

  Rob didn’t move, though. He, too, acted as though nothing unusual had taken place. He continued humming and pretended to roll a nonexistent sugar block around in his hand.

  Pretty soon the black horse raised its head to observe the cowboy in the pen. The horse warred with his curiosity, then finally, to everyone’s surprise, he got a running start and jumped back inside the corral to confront the stranger.

  Rob held out a flat hand to show him it held nothing. In the next instant, he was on the horse’s back.

  Everyone held their breath, waiting for the explosion.

  Rob gave a cluck and squeezed the horse’s sides, and it walked out toward the fence line, nice as pie.

  “Brilliant!” called Jools. “That almost never happens.”

  It happens to me, Rob thought, pantomiming a doff of a hat. Even without the sombrero, he was still a heck of a cowboy.

  *

  The rest of the session didn’t go as well. They managed to lure three more horses into the pen using the black stallion, whom Rob had named Saber, as a decoy. But taming them was not so easy. They were out of sugar, and the two mares and young colt they’d chosen were not interested in being ridden without payment of some kind.

  Stormie got dumped by a chocolate-brown mare three times in a row. Turner tried to ride one horse after the other, getting dumped soundly by each one. Frida nearly got kicked and never managed to get on at all. Rob sat atop Saber, making helpful suggestions, and Jools called out advice from Beckett’s saddle, but they were of no help. Still, this wasn’t the group to throw in the towel, no matter how much of a bath they were taking.

  “What I need is a saddle,” Turner said, splayed out on the hard ground after his third try. “Something with one a those knobs on it to hang on to.”

  “But we’re in the middle of nowhere. How are we going to find a saddle?” Rob asked.

  “Could fish for one,” Jools suggested. “But that’s kind of hit or miss.”

  “I’ve got one,” came an unfamiliar voice.

  Rob, Turner, Jools, Frida, and Stormie all gasped, shocked that someone had been able to approach them without their knowledge. Beckett hadn’t whinnied. Saber hadn’t even switched his tail.

  Peeking over the top rail of the corral was a slip of a girl with pink skin, shiny black hair, and one gold earring.

  “Who’re you?” Turner demanded.

  “And what are you doing with a saddle?” Frida added, seeing no horse accompanying the girl.

  “I’m Kim.” She smiled. “How can I help you?”

  Jools peered down at her from his perch astride Beckett. “I doubt that you can help us. Even with a saddle.” He waved a hand as though chasing a fly.

  “Trying to gentle ’em? Let me try.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, she scrambled over the rail and into the enclosure. She chirruped, and the bay colt and bay mare with the same markings walked right up to her. With a leap, she vaulted onto them both, standing upright with one leg on the back of each horse. The next thing the group knew, she was cantering them around in a circle as though it were the center ring of a three-ring circus.

  Finally, after encouraging her mounts to pirouette side by side in a loop, she threw her arms out in front of her and performed an alley-oop onto the ground.

  Jools slowly applauded. Frida, Stormie, and Rob joined in, cheering.

  “How’d she do that?” Turner muttered, crossing his decorated arms.

  “Yeah, where’d you learn to ride like that?” Rob asked the new girl.

  “I learned by watching,” she replied. Then she walked over and opened the corral gate, and the three loose horses bolted out, back to the herd.

  “What’d you do that for?” Turner yelled. “It took us half a day to get them in here.”

  Kim turned to him with a wry smile. “They’ll come back.” She paused. “They’re mine.”

  *

  It turned out that the bronc whisperer, as they were now calling Kim, was a horse breeder. “I have a place not too far from here,” she said. “I’ve got an extra saddle there you can use—or trade for. In fact, I’ve got three horses that are already tame and set to ride.”

  “N
ame your price,” said Stormie, obviously impressed.

  “Well, I’ve got plenty of emeralds already,” Kim said, thinking. “What I could really use is some help with the haying.”

  “You mean, like, work?” Turner translated.

  “Physical labor?” Jools wrinkled his nose. “I’ve got my own horse.”

  “You can always use another. I’ve got some racing types available.” Kim was a good salesperson.

  “I like them slow,” Jools said, patting Beckett’s neck.

  “I don’t,” Turner blurted out. “Let’s go eyeball ’em.”

  The other two women looked at Rob.

  “Let’s,” he agreed. “I’m sure that Kim here has something suitable for the two of you.” He and Jools dismounted and led their horses to give them a rest. “Guess I’ll have to find something to trade for Saber.”

  “No worries,” Kim told him. “I was never able to get close enough to tame that one. He’s yours fair and square.”

  They all set out for Kim’s ranch, Rob feeling on top of the world.

  Kim walked in between Stormie and Frida. “Why are you shopping for mounts if you don’t mind my asking? You don’t seem like horsey types.”

  “You guessed right,” Frida said. “We’re not out for a pleasure ride.”

  Stormie motioned at Rob. “Our homeboy Rob, here, is going to help us form a cavalry. We’ve got to take care of some business.”

  Kim looked at her. “Zombie business?”

  “Wrong. We’ve got a date with Dr. Dirt, if we ever want to travel freely again in the Overworld. He’s the one we need to take out.”

  Kim nodded. “I’ve heard his armies are crisscrossing the map. That’s why I pretty much stay here on the plains. I’ve got most everything I need. I grow my own wheat, hay, and vegetables, and I can trade in the village for most everything else.”

  Turner had come up alongside her. “You say, most. What is it you’re missing?”

  The pink-skinned girl hesitated. “I’m . . . not sure. It’s just, every now and then, I feel like there must be something out there for me, over the horizon.”

  Rob sensed a kindred spirit. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Myself, I’m bound for the extreme hills. Not that I’ve ever been there. But that’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time,” Kim said.

  So they filled her in on Rob’s plight and the danger that he and the others had already faced in beginning their journey. Stormie had agreed to accompany them as a guide since she had maps and knew the terrain. But they all realized that Dr. Dirt’s stronghold had to be broken before they could boundary hop with any safety.

  Kim stayed quiet as they replayed the details. When her spread came into view, about fifty blocks away, she looked over her shoulder at Rob. “Can I ask you a question? Would it be all right if I joined your company?”

  “Sure—it’s not my company,” he stammered, “but you’re welcome to ride with us. We can always use a good hand. But how come?”

  “What do you mean, how come?” She acted like the answer was obvious. “Why, to save the world, dummy.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ROB FELT LIKE A KID IN A CANDY STORE AT THE horse farm, where mares, stallions, colts, and fillies of all colors and sizes ambled, cavorted, and pushed up to the fence to greet the visitors. Kim knew the horses’ personalities and abilities. Rob knew those of his friends. Together they played matchmaker, eventually pairing Frida, Stormie, and Turner with suitable mounts.

  Then it was time for their first riding lesson. Kim produced a saddle and showed Turner how to tack up. She told Stormie and Frida, “You two can trade for more saddles in the village, and Rob, too, if he needs one. Meanwhile, you look steady enough to handle bareback riding if we don’t go any faster than a trot.”

  Kim helped them get mounted, instructing them to put their arms out at their sides to find their centers of balance. Stormie sat atop a black and white paint horse, while Frida had been matched with a shiny black pony with a spotted rump. Turner squirmed in the saddle on the coarse, gray stallion that Kim had picked out for him, a blocky quarter horse that had more chest and barrel than all the other horses put together.

  “Nothing to hold on to here,” Turner complained of his hornless saddle.

  “We won’t be working cattle,” Rob said. “Besides, how do you think you’d shoot arrows off of old Duff here if you were hanging onto something else?”

  “In fact,” Kim said, “I want you all to start out riding no-handed. Learn to steer with your legs.”

  “Where’s your mount?” asked Jools, who was standing near Beckett, feeding him bits of apple, which Kim had provided.

  “Oh, I don’t ride,” she said. “I mostly teleport where I need to go. I was just keeping you guys company on the walk over.”

  Interesting, Rob thought. Staying on the ground—or hovering slightly above it—gave Kim more opportunity to study each horse’s behavior. She really knows them.

  The gang spent some time getting a feel for their horses at a walk and then a trot. Turner was surprised to stay upright as Duff picked up his feet and passed the others.

  “He’s fast, but he’s smooth,” Kim mentioned. She made similar comments about Armor and Ocelot, the paint and the pony that the girls were riding. Armor was the braver of the two, but Ocelot could maneuver like a . . . well, like an ocelot. And they already knew that Saber was an ace jumper.

  Rob liked the mix of talents in this mob, kind of like the skills that each of their human counterparts brought to the table. Working together, he thought, they’d be a pretty formidable team.

  “Good going, gang,” Kim said. “Now, if you’ll just put your horses up, you can come help me bale hay and consider yourselves paid in full.”

  Even Turner couldn’t argue with settling the debt that was already paying off for him. He’d figured out that by rubbing Duff’s shoulder in a certain spot the horse would respond in kind with a nice back scratch. “We’re gonna get along just fine, pal,” he said, patting Duff’s side.

  The sun crossed the sky’s midpoint as the group finished forming the last hay block and stacked it in Kim’s big barn. Rob noted that she’d crafted all of the outbuildings quite sturdily and had even found time to add nice touches like flower pots and emerald inlay. If he weren’t bent on getting home to his own ranch, he wouldn’t mind staying here, maybe forever.

  But duty called.

  “We’d best get to town,” he said.

  Kim was satisfied with everyone’s ability to sit their horses, so they remounted and walked across the plains toward the village. Kim hopped in slow motion, teleporting behind or ahead of them. The horses appeared to be used to this movement and paid her no mind.

  The gang soon reached the stone walls of the village, which were unguarded, and passed under a large arch. Lining the main street was a neat collection of tidy shops and houses. Villagers stopped to watch the strangers march by. Kim appeared to be quite popular. “Friends of yours?” asked a melon hawker as she teleported past. “Nice to see you!” called an older woman who was scrubbing a cobblestone walkway. Even the patrolling iron golem sent her a salute. Kim nodded and waved.

  They pulled up in front of the butcher shop and tied their horses. “We’ll meet back here,” Kim said, and the women headed for the leather worker’s shop, while the men went to visit the blacksmith.

  Inside the smithy the heat of the forge nearly pushed Jools, Turner, and Rob back out the door. A sturdy-looking woman with red skin greeted them with a hammer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. “I’m Sundra,” she said. “Make yourselves at home. Be with you in a minute.” She finished shoeing a mule that stood in one corner, its chestnut coat shining in the glow of the furnace.

  “Now, what can I do you for?” she asked.

  “I’d like some obsidian,” Jools said.

  “I’m in the market for an iron sword and a helmet,” Rob said, figuring the latter was the next best thing to a cowboy hat.r />
  Turner stuck a finger through his chainmail helmet. “Got a hole here that needs fixing,” he said.

  Sundra accommodated their requests, and they plied her with emeralds. Rob had acquired a handful from Kim, who’d paid him for his help with the haying since he didn’t owe her anything for the use of Saber.

  Sundra smiled, showing a row of gold teeth. “So, what’re you three hunks of burnin’ love doing in the village?”

  Jools and Rob coughed. Turner preened, answering, “Truth be told, we’re on a fact-finding mission.”

  “You haven’t heard anything about Dr. Dirt’s mobs being on the march around here, have you?” Rob asked.

  “Heard? Seen,” Sundra corrected him. “We’ve had to employ a night watch on the perimeter. Our iron golem was just manning the gate, but Dirt’s skeletons used ladders to scale the walls one night. Took out three villagers and a pig.”

  “You don’t say,” Turner murmured.

  “So, he’s venturing beyond the biome boundaries,” Jools noted. “He’s getting bolder.”

  Rob placed his new iron helmet on his head. “So are we.”

  *

  Jools and Rob finished their trading and wanted to explore the village.

  “I’ll just hang back here,” Turner said, jabbing a thumb toward the forge. “Might learn something useful.” Sundra batted her eyes as he leaned over the counter conspiratorially.

  His partners shrugged at each other and stepped back outside into the sunshine.

  Meanwhile, Kim had led the other women to the leather worker’s studio. “Aswan is a master with leather,” she said. “Not to mention, a bit of a black marketeer. Anything you can’t find elsewhere, he’ll have it. Or know someone who does.”

  “Kim, my devotion!” the white-aproned craftsman called out, greeting the bronc whisperer.

  “Aswan, these are my friends Stormie and Frida.”

  He appraised them admiringly. “If I weren’t already in love with you, my flower, you’d have some competition.”

  Stormie and Frida jostled each other, obviously pleased.