Ashes of the Dead - Bucket of Blood by Jake Page A

moonlight. Her hair was messy and her dress was wrinkled from hard work. But she was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful .
    “I w asn't thirsty.”
    She smirked . “You’re not from around here, are you?” she said, taking a step closer to him.
    “Far from it.” He flicked the cigarette into the street and watched it smolder in the darkness.
    She stared at the side of his face, his chiseled jawline , dark locks of hair that curled onto the back of his neck. He was ruggedly handsome and she shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, uncomfortably trying to push the conversation forward. “You’re not much for talking, are you?”
    “ Nope.”
    Rose pulled a shawl over her shoulders, stepping even closer to him. “Here’s your beer.”
    He turned and took the beer from her tender hand. Their fing ers touched for a brief moment and she felt a chill run up her arm and down her spine.
    “ Where are you from?” she asked him.
    He took a sip of the stale beer. “A long way from here. But I’m just passin' through.”
    “ I see. Some of the folks here think you're trouble.”
    “Like I said , just passin' through,” he said and finished the remaining beer.
    “ Oh,” she said, not wanting to ask him too many questions, knowing that it made him uncomfortable. She continued to stare at him, looking straight into his eyes. “I can take that glass if you’d like,” she offered. He casually handed her the empty glass.
    She loo ked at him for a moment longer and realized that he wasn’t much more for conversation. “I'll see you around,” she said and turned to walk back to the saloon. The Gunman watched her in silence, stunned by her beauty. He regretted not talking to her more and turned back to the railing as he returned to his turbid thoughts.
    Emmett waited for Rose in the doorway, wondering where she had disappeared to. “You alright?”
    “ Of course I am. Why?”
    “ Just checkin'.”
    Rose turned back to the Gunman. A freshly rolled cigarette was already hanging from his mouth. “Oh. Him.” She smiled and placed her hand on Emmett’s shoulder. “I can handle myself, dad.” She kissed him gently on the cheek and stepped back inside.
    Emmett took a moment to survey the Gunman, then retreated back into the saloon.
     
    •  •  •
     
    Deputy Gerald Markley drove an old wooden cart down a twisted road. A body lay in the back, Rebecca’s undead body, wrapped in a white bed sheet and stained red with blood. When the deputy had entered the Forred home he found Rebecca in the doorway, her head completely blown off. They had been friends since she had helped his wife find a good job in town, and he hung his head low as he pushed the cart forward down the road, unable to comprehend how Andrew could have done such a horrible thing to her. Nothing like this had ever happened in the small town. Sure, people had been shot during a scuffle in the street, but nobody had ever killed in cold blood, not like this.
    Clouds swallow ed the moon and surrounded the Deputy in darkness. He slowed the cart and peered down the road. He knew this road well, but the deep black night seemed to have a strange effect on him. He was a grown man, well over thirty, but something about the night had always scared him.
    Markley could see a farmhouse sitting in the distance with yellow light emanating from the windows. He whipped the horses and pushed the cart forward down the road, hoping to make it back to town as soon as he could.
    As he passed closer to the house he heard the sound of breaking glass echo from inside, followed by a scream , and then complete silence.
    He stopped the cart and jumped to the ground. He pulled his gun and cocked it as he moved toward the Miller’s house. Deputy or not, Markley handled his gun with unsteady hands, like a schoolboy who had just found his father’s pistol. He snuck up to the front porch near a row of thick bushes and hid behind them. The front door was broken down and