Blood & Dust (Lonesome Ridge Book 2) (11 page)

The wolf took the lead, rising from his haunches and slinking toward the sounds. She followed close behind, walking in a crouch and keeping herself as low to the ground as possible. The group soon came into view. Four men, four horses. All the men carried guns and knives. One had a huge lump on the back of his saddle.

The group rode along a well-worn trail, heading back toward the town of Lonesome Ridge. As Summer Rain drew closer to the group, she could make out what the lump was: a deer. Summer Rain knit her brow as she squatted behind some bushes. The men moved ever closer while the wolf crept away, using trees and rocks for cover as he tucked himself around behind the group. The wind was in their favor and the horses remained relaxed and calm.

Summer Rain waited and watched. As the wolf moved closer to the men, her muscles tensed and her grin turned into a snarl. The men were so close now. She could almost smell their blood and the thought of it on her tongue, coating her throat, was nearly too much to bear, but she held herself back and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. The wolf padded up behind the horses. He was barely a foot from the last horse when it finally realized he was there. The horse tried to rear and kick out at the same time, but all it managed to do was throw itself and the rider off balance. The wolf leapt. He landed on top of the rider and ripped a huge chunk of flesh and cloth from his back, even as the man flailed and soared toward the ground. They landed in a heap of fur and flesh with blood flying everywhere.

Summer Rain took advantage of the distraction and raced up to the nearest horse. She gripped the leg of the rider, who was pulling his gun and trying to watch the tussle going on with the wolf, and jerked. He fell toward her and she grabbed him by the neck and yanked. The pop was audible, even over the screams of the horses and shouts of the men.

Another man turned toward her. He had his knife out. She laughed and shook her head. With a swift kick to the side, she managed to pop his horse’s knee and the big beast fell. The man tumbled forward out of the saddle, the knife still in his hand. His descent was less than spectacular and the weapon ended up lodged in his chest. Blood spurted out past the wound and he slapped at it feebly. Summer Rain ran to him and licked the blood off the handle of the knife. It sent trails of ecstasy over her tongue. She leaned over and her teeth sank into the soft flesh of his neck. His moans died as she ripped a chunk free and chewed.

A loud gunshot startled her out of the reverie she was in. At first she thought she’d been shot, again, but she felt no pain. Half a second later, she realized the blast came from behind her. She spun around. One man remained. He was a big man, burly and full of confidence. She recognized him immediately. He was one of those at the gate who waved goodbye to the sheriff and his companion. And he was holding a smoking gun.

The wolf staggered off the man on the ground as another shot rang out. It cried and yelped as it loped off into the weeds, dripping a trail of blood behind it. Summer Rain’s own cry was something out of a nightmare: strangled, blood-thirsty, and designed to put terror into even the most stout-worthy of men.

She launched herself across the space between her and the man with the gun. She grabbed at his arm and the weapon tumbled from his fingers even as her teeth met his flesh. He shouted and clubbed her over the head with his massive fist. She stumbled backward with stars in her eyes. His foot lashed out and connected with her chest in an audible thump. She flew through the air and landed on her back in the dirt with a whoof of dust cloud around her.

Summer Rain blinked away the stars and scrambled to her feet. The man kicked his horse into a gallop and the pair raced off into the night. She let them go. Her focus was elsewhere. She followed the twin trails of blood until she reached the bushes where she had been hiding. A gray mass of matted fur lay half hidden by the branches.

Summer Rain sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around the big beast, her one and only friend. He was still breathing, though he had been shot twice. It took everything she had, but she managed to half-drag, half-carry the wolf back to the cave. She laid him on the ground at the back on a pile of old fur and stroked his head. He was dying. Of that she had no doubt. His breathing was fading. The blood was pooling beneath him in big, dark clouds, swirling with the dirt to create a thick mud. Her fingers danced over him and she found the bullet wounds. One was in his side, and when she touched it, he cried. The other was in his chest and it bubbled something fierce every time he tried to breathe. Blood dripped from his jaws and he looked up at her with cloudy, sad eyes.

Her whole body shook. With anger, with hate, but mostly with fear. He was her friend, her only friend. She felt safe with him, almost happy, if happy was a term that could be applied to someone like her. She stroked his head and rocked back and forth. Her head began jerking side to side.

No
, she thought.
No no no.
The word repeated itself in her mind, over and over without stopping. She leaned over and kissed the wolf’s head. Then she brushed some fur aside as best she could and sank her teeth into his shoulder. He whimpered, but didn’t fight her. He didn’t have the strength to fight. She pulled back and looked down as she spit out the chunk of fur and flesh. The bubbling at his chest had stopped. His eyes stared off into nothing. He didn’t move.

She pulled him half onto her lap and rocked with him for awhile, still repeating the one word that came to mind.
No.
She pressed her head to his and kissed the fur over and over. Then she got up and walked to the mouth of the cave. She stared out into the dark of the night, at the stars above and the dirt below. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t understand where this new pain was coming from. She watched moon and the stars, the trees and the grass, and she hated it all. Every living thing, every dead thing, and everything in between. Nothing was immune from her anger and she contemplated what to destroy first.

A low growl emanated from inside the cave. Summer Rain spun and crouched as her ears and eyes perked up. A shadow twitched near the wall and rose with a jerky stumble to its feet. She tensed as it walked toward her, its motion slow and unsteady. She waited.

The wolf came over and sniffed Summer Rain. His eyes were the cloudy gray she had seen so many times, but behind the gray was that sense of intelligence that was so rare. His fur was the same color as it was when he was alive, but he held himself in a way that was different, off. To anyone who saw him, they would notice something was wrong, but they wouldn’t be able to put their finger on it, not until his teeth sank into their throat.

The wolf rubbed against Summer Rain’s thigh. She grinned for the second time that day. Together, they left the cave to find fresh meat.

CHAPTER 16

Robert Zane slouched as he stumbled up to the small door set into the wall. His horse was gone, lost somewhere on the prairie, and he was alone. It had taken him most of the night to find his way back to Lonesome Ridge, stumbling through the darkness, following a path he only half remembered. The pain in his arm was intense and sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes, despite the chilly night wind. He glanced up at the tower positioned over the door. It was empty. Who was supposed to be on duty? He couldn’t remember and for the briefest of moments, he was grateful. He was tired and sore and he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone just yet about what had happened. In the next breath, though, he was disappointed and angry. No one was supposed to abandon their post, ever. What if something bad happened? What if one of those things came up to the gate? What would they do then?

The big man gritted his teeth together and pushed at the gate. It shivered, but didn’t open. He gripped the handle and lifted while he shoved harder. The latch popped open and the door swung wide. Robert stumbled inside. No one was around. The streets were empty, everyone was sleeping. He wanted to be sleeping, too. Tomorrow, tomorrow he would explain to his wife what happened. He would let them do what they needed to do. But tonight, tonight he was going to sleep.

Robert stumbled down the street, past the stable, past the jail house, until he finally found his home. He tripped up the steps and opened the door with a bang. Inside, he didn’t bother to take his shoes off or his jacket. He just dragged himself up the stairs to the second floor and found his room. A figure lay snoring on the bed. His wife, his beautiful, wonderful wife.

“I love you,” he whispered as he stood over the bed. He began to sway. His head hurt and his whole body ached. He just wanted to sleep. Just for a bit.

He started to sit down, but his weight carried him and as he flopped onto the bed, it bounced two inches to the side.

“What the hell?” His wife sat up in bed and glared at him. “Robert Elias Zane, do you know what time is it?” She peered at him in the faint light that came through the curtains from the street outside. “You’re drunk! At a time like this?” She scoffed and shook her head in disgust as she slapped at his burly bicep. “You’re a miserable excuse for a man, Robert Zane. Worthless drunk pig! I never should’ve married you. I should’ve married Eddard Wicks, just like my mama wanted.”

She smacked him across the face and his head reeled, but he kept his mouth shut. He needed to sleep. She would understand. He would tell her the truth in the morning and they would figure out what to do about the whole situation then. He let himself drift off as she continued to berate him.

***

Tilda Zane dozed in the bed she shared with her husband. She had worn herself out a few hours before with her yelling and cursing. She hated having a drunkard as a husband, but in all reality, she was glad he was home, safe, in time to have a few drinks at the saloon with his friends. That was better than the alternative. And no matter how much she yelled, she loved Robert. He would do anything for his family and friends and she felt safe having the man by her side.

Tilda groaned and rolled over with the intent to poke Robert awake. But he wasn’t beside her. She sat up and looked around the room. Her eyes fell on a big shadow in the corner.

“Robert?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “What’re you doing? Why are you up already?”

He moved toward her. His feet scuffed on the hardwood floors. His arms hung limp at his sides.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop that,” she snapped. “Stop that this instant.”

Robert cocked his head at her. In the light from the window, his eyes were no longer the dark brown she was used to. They were a pale, speckled gray that showed no sign of a spark behind them. Her hand slapped across her mouth. She stumbled out of bed.

“Robert,” she whispered. “No, please.”

He lunged for her and her screams pierced the air.

***

Jasper shot up in bed and looked around in a sleepy haze. The light of the sun was just coming through the windows. The screams came again, louder this time. He jumped out of bed and grabbed his pistol from the dresser. His bare feet pounded on the stairs as he raced toward the sounds. The door slammed against the wall as he threw it open and flew through.

Robert Zane stood in the middle of the street. His wife, Tilda, was on her hands and knees, scrabbling in the dirt as she tried to get away from him. Her night shift was bloody and torn. It drooped off her shoulders and caught under her feet.

A small crowd started to form. People poured from their houses and created a loose circle around the pair.

“Help me,” Tilda cried as she reached out toward one of the women. “Please.” Blood dripped from her arm where flesh was missing.

The other woman shook her head and backed away, trying to hide herself in the crowd. The shame of being singled out, the shame of refusal, sat heavily on her face.

“Please,” Tilda cried to another person. “Please help me.”

Her pleas fell flat. She had wounds on her arms and legs, wounds no one wanted to ever see again. She was a cursed woman, doomed to be shunned.

Robert grunted as he shuffled toward her. She backed away again.

Jasper pushed himself between two men blocking his path and walked out into the circle. His stomach roiled and his chest hurt as he approached the big man. He hoped against all hope that the scene wasn’t what he thought it was. “Robert?”

The butcher cocked his head to the side and watched Jasper with those eyes, the eyes of the undead. Jasper inhaled sharply. “Everyone stay back,” he demanded. “No one come anywhere near these two.”

Robert took a faltering step toward him, then another. Jasper raised his gun. The bullet ripped cleanly through Robert’s skull and blew out the back. It embedded itself in a post just down the street. Robert stood where he was for several long, terrible, utterly still seconds before he toppled over to the side.

The collective gasp from the crowd was enough to make Jasper want to crawl in a hole and die. He turned toward Tilda.

“Have you been bitten?” He knew the answer. Everyone knew the answer. The bites were impossible to miss and in places where chopping off the limb would serve no purpose at all.

Tilda shook and tried to pull her night shift around her. “Help me,” she cried as she dropped the shift and scrambled toward Jasper on her hands and knees. “Please, help me, Jasper. I have children. Please.”