Wen sliced through heads
with a skill that impressed her, and held them at bay while she reloaded—a team
effort she highly appreciated.
Red had no idea what Cowboy was up to, but heard him firing
off shots of his own. She worked with Wen to kill the crowd of wagon zombies
that advanced upon them. Mothers, fathers, teamsters, small children—it didn't
matter. Sentiment had no place in zombie annihilation. She didn't miss a single
target, as each forehead was penetrated and the dilapidated bodies collapsed to
the ground.
When no more approached from her direction, she waited for a
second to be sure, and then rolled onto her belly to take on any coming from
behind. Only there weren't any. A pleasant, yet unexpected surprise. Cowboy
stood there, watching and waiting with his rifle raised. Wen held his machete
across his chest, ready as well. Silence prevailed, but for the sound of their
own rapid breathing. As quickly as it had begun, it ended, but none of them
were willing to let their guard down just yet.
"Everyone okay?" Cowboy asked, the butt of his
rifle still pressed against his shoulder. "Anyone bit? Hurt?"
Wen shook his head. "I'm good. I'm real good."
Red slowly stood, her rifle shaking in her hands. "I'm
good too."
"Perfect." Cowboy lowered his weapon and smiled.
"Couldn't have gone better."
"We need to burn the bodies. Pile them. Set them
ablaze. But"—she indicated the bloody mess that covered her from head to
toe with an unnatural tremble in her fingers—"I need to get this off of
me."
Cowboy scanned her body and lingered on her bare legs poking
out from under her night shirt.
"Go." He turned away out of respect. "We'll
keep an eye out and start putting them in a pile. Get cleaned up."
Red stepped over the zombie corpses littering her path and
returned to the wagon that had provided such peace the night before. Her hands
twitched more now, but she managed to toss the remaining dead zombie out onto
the ground before sinking onto a clean area of the mattress.
She inched up the bottom of her soiled night shirt to reveal
what she knew was there all along—a gaping hole on her thigh, several inches
deep. The bite mark bubbled and spilled red, foamy droplets onto the mattress
below. She didn't know which zombie had bit her or when it happened, not that
the details mattered, only that the pain was excruciating and its liquid heat
radiated through her veins. She balled her fist and punched the mattress once,
then twice more.
Damn it.
With nothing more to do, she leaned her head back against
the side of the wagon and waited.
***
Trace couldn't believe it. Not just one or two zombies, but
thirty-eight. Hot damn ! The three of them had fought like Kilkenny cats
and came off victorious. That was something worth bragging about;
dragging the bodies into a pile, not so much. He could hardly stand the awful
stench that wafted from the rotting bodies. Zombies smelled horrid at any time,
but dead, really dead....
Wen had the right idea. He tied a bandana around his nose
and mouth, and handed a second one to Trace. It helped some, but the smell
still made his eyes water and nose run.
They prepared to set the bodies ablaze, but they couldn't do
that until they'd saddled, readied, and packed the horses to go. Wen explained
that the smell of burning zombie flesh was far worse than what they experienced
now. Multiply it by thirty-eight and they'd all be vomiting their guts out.
Trace packed his horse while Wen arranged wood and brush
around the bodies to ensure each one would catch hold of the flames and create
a bonfire. Trace packed enough supplies to keep the three of them comfortable
and fed until they reached the next town. He also found plenty of ammunition
among the wagons to replace what they'd spent that afternoon—a blessing he
couldn't deny.
Red still hadn't emerged from the wagon. He proceeded to
saddle her horse and pack some supplies for her, growing irritated with her
prolonged bath. He didn't want
with a skill that impressed her, and held them at bay while she reloaded—a team
effort she highly appreciated.
Red had no idea what Cowboy was up to, but heard him firing
off shots of his own. She worked with Wen to kill the crowd of wagon zombies
that advanced upon them. Mothers, fathers, teamsters, small children—it didn't
matter. Sentiment had no place in zombie annihilation. She didn't miss a single
target, as each forehead was penetrated and the dilapidated bodies collapsed to
the ground.
When no more approached from her direction, she waited for a
second to be sure, and then rolled onto her belly to take on any coming from
behind. Only there weren't any. A pleasant, yet unexpected surprise. Cowboy
stood there, watching and waiting with his rifle raised. Wen held his machete
across his chest, ready as well. Silence prevailed, but for the sound of their
own rapid breathing. As quickly as it had begun, it ended, but none of them
were willing to let their guard down just yet.
"Everyone okay?" Cowboy asked, the butt of his
rifle still pressed against his shoulder. "Anyone bit? Hurt?"
Wen shook his head. "I'm good. I'm real good."
Red slowly stood, her rifle shaking in her hands. "I'm
good too."
"Perfect." Cowboy lowered his weapon and smiled.
"Couldn't have gone better."
"We need to burn the bodies. Pile them. Set them
ablaze. But"—she indicated the bloody mess that covered her from head to
toe with an unnatural tremble in her fingers—"I need to get this off of
me."
Cowboy scanned her body and lingered on her bare legs poking
out from under her night shirt.
"Go." He turned away out of respect. "We'll
keep an eye out and start putting them in a pile. Get cleaned up."
Red stepped over the zombie corpses littering her path and
returned to the wagon that had provided such peace the night before. Her hands
twitched more now, but she managed to toss the remaining dead zombie out onto
the ground before sinking onto a clean area of the mattress.
She inched up the bottom of her soiled night shirt to reveal
what she knew was there all along—a gaping hole on her thigh, several inches
deep. The bite mark bubbled and spilled red, foamy droplets onto the mattress
below. She didn't know which zombie had bit her or when it happened, not that
the details mattered, only that the pain was excruciating and its liquid heat
radiated through her veins. She balled her fist and punched the mattress once,
then twice more.
Damn it.
With nothing more to do, she leaned her head back against
the side of the wagon and waited.
***
Trace couldn't believe it. Not just one or two zombies, but
thirty-eight. Hot damn ! The three of them had fought like Kilkenny cats
and came off victorious. That was something worth bragging about;
dragging the bodies into a pile, not so much. He could hardly stand the awful
stench that wafted from the rotting bodies. Zombies smelled horrid at any time,
but dead, really dead....
Wen had the right idea. He tied a bandana around his nose
and mouth, and handed a second one to Trace. It helped some, but the smell
still made his eyes water and nose run.
They prepared to set the bodies ablaze, but they couldn't do
that until they'd saddled, readied, and packed the horses to go. Wen explained
that the smell of burning zombie flesh was far worse than what they experienced
now. Multiply it by thirty-eight and they'd all be vomiting their guts out.
Trace packed his horse while Wen arranged wood and brush
around the bodies to ensure each one would catch hold of the flames and create
a bonfire. Trace packed enough supplies to keep the three of them comfortable
and fed until they reached the next town. He also found plenty of ammunition
among the wagons to replace what they'd spent that afternoon—a blessing he
couldn't deny.
Red still hadn't emerged from the wagon. He proceeded to
saddle her horse and pack some supplies for her, growing irritated with her
prolonged bath. He didn't want
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