Blood & Dust (Lonesome Ridge Book 2) (12 page)

Jasper raised his chin and took a deep breath. His eyes locked on those of a beautiful, young blond woman at the edge of the crowd. Hers were filled with salty tears that ran down her face. Hannah bobbed her head to him once, giving him the strength to do what he had to do.

He closed his eyes and inhaled again before looking down at Tilda Zane. “I’m sorry, Tilda” he said. “So sorry.” The screams from the women in the crowd were nothing compared to the screams from her two orphaned children.

CHAPTER 17

“It’s pretty big.Lot bigger than I remember. My papa brought me here once when I was real young. It musta grown since then.” Norma ran a hand through her already knotted hair and glanced over at Charity with raised eyebrows. “Are we going to hit it?”

Charity shrugged. “Maybe.” She looked back at the small horde behind her. They’d picked up quite a few , but the group was still smaller than when they hit Lonesome Ridge. A lot smaller. “We probably shouldn’t. We should go around, find someplace smaller. We need more people.”

“This would be the perfect place to get more people. If we’re careful and smart, they’ll never even know we were here.”

Jeremiah stood nearby, listening to the girls in their conversation. Ever since Charity had started to bond with Norma, he found himself more and more on the outs with Charity. She no longer deferred to him about plans. She no longer seemed interested in him at all, in fact, and that was working against his plan to keep her in check. He pushed himself away from the tree that was holding him up and sauntered over to the ladies.

“I think we should attack.” Charity narrowed her eyes at him, probably trying to warn him away, but he walked up between them and crossed his arms, staring at the town that was still quite a ways away. “Yep, definitely should attack that one.”

“Like I said,” Norma offered. “If we’re careful, we can hit them and be out and they’ll be none the wiser.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Nope. That ain’t the way to do it.”

Charity’s eyes narrowed still further. She crossed her arms to match his stance. “Oh? And what do you suggest, since you’re so wise?”

The sarcasm bleeding off her voice threatened to flatten Jeremiah to the ground. Instead of cowing under her insult, he grinned his toothy brown grin. “We leave ‘em reelin’.”

The smug disbelief on Charity’s face melted into interested confusion. “Reeling? How so?” She tilted forward ever so slightly, hooked on his words.

He took advantage of her interest. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head so he was closer to their height. He kept his voice soft and quiet, pulling them into his invisible circle. “Well, we been killin’ lots an’ leavin’ lots o’ dead, but we ain’t been leavin’ no one to tell our story.”

Norma’s lips pressed together in the perfection imitation of Charity. “And? We don’t want to leave survivors. Charity told me about the little boy you tried to leave behind. She says you’re soft, that you can’t kill anymore. The rule is ‘no survivors’. She’s in charge and she says so. If we leave someone behind, they might tell people about us.”

Jeremiah nodded. “Yup, and why shouldn’t we let them? I dunno why you ladies are so afeared o’ being talked about. What’s the point o’ being queen if no one but us knows it? Why bother tryin’ at all? We should attack them, kill a bunch, turn a bunch, and leave the rest behind to cry and sob and tell the world what we are. Let ‘em talk, I say. Let ‘em leave everyone shakin’ in their boots. Let ‘em know that Queen Charity and her undead army are something to be feared, not hidden.”

By the end of his speech, Jeremiah was standing tall and proud. He almost felt what he was trying to sell deep in his own soul. Almost.

“Yes,” Charity whispered as she nodded. Her eyes were locked on the ground in thought and her hand cupped her chin. “Yes, I like this. This is a good idea. Is that what you’ve been trying to do? Leave a few behind so they could tell our story and share their fear?”

“’Xactly,” Jeremiah said with a bob of his head. This whole thing was working out better than he could have imagined.

Charity’s head bounced as she thought a bit more. “That’s not a bad plan. Not a bad plan at all.”

Norma scoffed. “What would a little boy who could barely talk do for us?”

Jeremiah pushed his shoulders back and rose to his full height so he towered over the young woman. He may have looked like a dumb brute, but he could be quick on his feet when he needed to be. “A single little child left alive amid all that chaos? People wouldn’t know what to think. Wouldn’t know what to do. They’d be flabbergasted to find a terrified kid hunkered down in his house, alone, parents slaughtered, no one else around. He’d be so skeered, he wouldn’t trust no one.” That wasn’t why he had done it. The little boy reminded him of Jasper when he was just a wee thing, and that’s why Jeremiah had tried to spare him, but Charity didn’t need to know that.

Charity wagged a finger at him. “Jeremiah, I thought I’d lost you. You hide your smarts very well.”

His mouth worked as he tried to come up with a response to that, but she moved on before he could manage.

“So we’ll hit them at night, after they’re all asleep. We’ll spread out and come in from all sides. Kill, maim, burn. Cause as much chaos as we can, then we’ll head out. We probably won’t get many undead from this, but we’ll leave a lot behind to turn. They’ll be so distracted trying to deal with those that they won’t have time to think much about us until later. Just like Lonesome Ridge. We left them with a mess to clean up. No one came after us.” She laughed. “I doubt they thought any got away, and now we’re leaving a trail of death and destruction behind us.” Her hands rubbed together as she giggled. “Oh, Jeremiah, this is an excellent plan.”

She turned away from Jeremiah and Norma to look at the town with a renewed sense of glee. “This is going to be fun.”

***

The sun was gone when the group of undead gathered to hear Charity’s plan. She split them up into smaller groups and sent them to each of the four sides of the town. She kept Norma with her, choosing to hit the nearest side herself, and gave Jeremiah and Bill each their own groups and tasked them to hit the far end of the town. Jeremiah had two others with him, a boy of about sixteen from the homestead with the horde of children and an old man with white hair a town after that. The three of them snuck around and were now hunkered down behind a building.

“Now,” Jeremiah whispered to the two men with him. They both looked at him with those dull eyes and he couldn’t help but wonder if they actually understand anything anyone said. “No kids, got it? We ain’t killin’ no children. None whatsoever. Stick to adults. Kill ‘em, bite ‘em, whatever. Just don’t touch the little kiddies.” He picked up an unlit torch. “I’ll go behind and burn stuff.”

The first scream echoed from the far end of the town, barely loud enough to hear. The two men perked up and rose to their feet.

“Let’s go,” Jeremiah said as he stepped out from behind the building. “Remember, no kids.”

The men shuffled forward. He prayed in the back of his mind that some god somewhere would hear him and protect the kids, but a cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He was certain kids would die. Lots of them. He just hoped he didn’t have to see it.

The three men pushed forward into the nearest house. He let the others work their horrific magic as he lit the torch from a nearby fireplace that was still smoldering. He stared at the torch as the flames caught and tried to block out the screams behind him. Lovely lace curtains hung in the room he was in and he touched the burning stick to them. They went up in a puff of flame and smoke. He grinned. The armchair by the fireplace was next. It took a bit more work than the curtains, but it caught fairly well.

“Time to go,” Jeremiah hollered up the stairs to the others after the screams faded.

The two men came stomping down to the first floor. Blood covered their hands, faces, and shirts.

“You fellas are a mess,” Jeremiah scolded as he led them out the door. “Hit that one next.” He pointed to the house next door. The men didn’t need any further encouragement as the three of them moved across the small gap between the houses. As they entered the house, he stood on the porch and looked down the street. The night was dark, but he could easily see figures darting in and out of the houses. Flames flickered in various places. Someone had raided the saloon and it burned brightly as the bottles inside exploded, one by one.

A woman’s scream sounded behind him. He turned and looked in the window. She was cornered in the main room. The two undead advanced on her. Her husband lay on the floor, his body a mess. Jeremiah turned away as the men fell on her.

The trio worked their way through the houses. They hit four of them, killing or turning everyone inside. Jeremiah stayed outside or downstairs, touching his torch to various pieces of furniture and decoration. It felt good to cause chaos without actually killing. It was fun to burn stuff.

“This house,” he said as he waved his torch toward one without a porch. He was flying high on the destruction happening around him and he felt amazing. He stepped into the house, and he was blown right back out. The buckshot took him right in the chest and he flew backward, slamming into the two men behind him. The torch soared away and rolled to a stop at the base of the building where it licked at the wood.

Jeremiah rolled over and groaned. The older man got to his feet and walked toward the wielder of the gun, a girl of about seven. The next blast took him in the shoulder, but he turned enough where it made him stumble, but he didn’t fall. He launched himself at the girl and ripped the weapon from her hands just as her father came down the stairs.

“No,” the man shouted as he plowed into the undead. They grappled over the weapon. The father growled while the undead snarled. They fell out the door and rolled to the side.

The younger undead scrambled to his feet and launched himself at the little girl. He grabbed her by her hair and her shrill scream pierced the air. It was matched by that of a woman standing on the stairs behind her.

“Ethel!”

Jeremiah forced himself to his feet. The holes in his chest stung, but he could still move. He staggered forward toward the house. The young undead had the girl’s neck in his hands just outside the door. The woman was in the doorway, screaming and trying to tear him away. He kept swatting at her like she was a gnat.

“Let her go,” Jeremiah boomed. He grabbed the undead by the hair and jerked him backward. The girl fell from his hands into a heap in the dirt.

The woman raced to her daughter and gathered her up, but it was too late. The girl’s neck had broken and she was gone. Jeremiah shoved the woman aside and grabbed the girl. He checked her over quickly.

“She’s not bit,” he declared. “She won’t turn.”

“You monster,” the woman screamed as she spat at him. “You devil! I hope you burn in hell.”

Jeremiah laid the little girl’s body down and stood up. “I hope I do, too, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to the woman.

Near the burning house, the father managed to wrestle the other undead into the flames. The dirty, tattered material of its clothes caught fire and the father rolled off. The undead staggered down the street, waving its arms and trying to put out the flames.

“Let’s go,” Jeremiah said to the remaining undead.

The woman dropped to her knees and pulled her daughter onto her lap again. “Ethel,” she sobbed as she patted the girl’s cheek. “Please, Ethel, wake up.”

Jeremiah loped down the street to find Charity and the others, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from the woman and little girl as possible.

CHAPTER 18

Connor McClane took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The image hadn’t changed. Bodies were still strewn across the lawn. Small bodies. Children.

Abby wretched beside him, doubled over to the side of her horse. He averted his gaze as she slid to the ground and crouched beside the agitated beast to finish emptying her stomach of breakfast.

He slipped off his own horse and dropped the reins over the fence. “Keep an eye out, would ya? I’m gonna head inside. Check things out.”

Abby wiped her mouth and nodded as she gripped the saddle to keep herself upright. “Yeah, I got it covered out here.” Her face was pale and her forehead was covered with beads of sweat.

Connor eyed her briefly, torn between the urge to wrap her in his arms and comfort her and the strong desire to stay as far away as possible. He turned on his heel and padded across the lawn as he pulled one of his pistols from its holster. He crossed the yard and stomped up the steps, hoping he would encounter something he could shoot.

Nothing came to greet him. Nothing poked its dead head outside. He pushed the door open and peered inside. More bodies. More children. Blood covered every surface and limbs littered the floor. He didn’t search the rest of the house. He didn’t want to know what he would find. Instead, he strode over to the still smoldering fireplace and grabbed a cloth hanging nearby on the back of a rocking chair. He set the cloth on fire and touched it to the curtains and table runner before tossing it onto the stairs. A broom sat next to the door and he poked it into the flames. The handle clattered behind him as he let it drop to the floor. The flames licked up the walls and across the floor as he stomped outside.