Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western (4 page)

Summer Rain crouched behind the log while Little Bear met with the spirit. She watched with horror as he twitched on the ground. She stared wide-eyed when he rose and walked into the woods toward North Wind. When the screams echoed across the clearing, she clapped her hands over her mouth and curled into a ball, hiding herself from sight. She remained huddled there behind the log for hours, waiting until the shouts and cries dwindled into a stark silence. The night stretched long and lonely. She waited for someone to come for her, to kill her or rescue her, but they never did. Gathering what little courage she had left, she pushed herself back to her knees and peered over the log.

The fire had dwindled to mere coals, but it offered just enough light for her to see the carnage. Blood was splattered across the grass, but no bodies were visible from her position. Where was Little Bear? Where were the warriors? Leaning over the rock, she saw a black braid poking out from behind a large tree. She stood and crept toward it. Had the soldiers found them? Was that the screaming? She refused to think of the other option. Her hands shook and she took deep breaths to calm herself. She wished she had a knife but none lay nearby.

As she drew closer to the tree, feet became visible in the shadows. They were bent at impossible angles. It was not a good sign. She steeled herself against what she was about to find. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her.

One of the warriors lay on the ground, his body twitching with the throes of death. North Wind crouched over him, tearing chunks of flesh from the dying man's throat.

Summer Rain clasped her hand to her mouth, but it was too late. A strangled scream escaped her lips and North Wind's head jerked in her direction. The warrior's face and chest were covered in blood. His eyes were a dull gray as he stared at her. He rose, still gnawing on the fleshy tendrils hanging from his mouth. As he took a step toward her, his eyes blazed with hunger. She matched his advance with a step backward. He took another, and so did she.

"No, North Wind." Little Bear's voice came from behind her. "She is mine."

Summer Rain spun. The young shaman stood behind her, so close she could touch him. He was covered head to toe in blood, too. He stared at Summer Rain with bloody, black eye sockets. She tried to reverse again, but North Wind was there. His hands brushed her shoulders and she twitched away.

Little Bear watched her as she edged around the warrior, trying for the safety of the trees. A smile broke across his gray face. "Run," he hissed.

Summer Rain's heart froze in her chest. He sounded so different, so cruel. His voice wasn't the voice of the kind young man she had known, the man she was going to marry. She stared at him for a second, a long, painful second. Then she spun as fast as she could and darted toward the trees.

She made it two steps before fingers tangled themselves in her messy braids. She screamed as she was jerked backward. Her left foot caught on her right and she stumbled. But she didn't fall. Little Bear held her upright by her hair and spun her around to face him. He yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him from an awkward, uncomfortable position.

"What happened to you?" she whispered.

His grin grew. "I became a god."

She gasped as pieces of hair ripped from her head. "I don't understand."

Little Bear jerked her head once, pulling a scream from her. "Of course you don't. Not yet. But you will. I will make you a god, too. And we will be together, forever."

She fought against him, beating his face and chest with her tiny fists, scratching him with her sharp nails, but his strength was beyond anything she could have imagined. He pulled her to him, gripping her tight. Her screams echoed off the trees as his teeth tore through the flesh in her chest.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sheriff?" Deputy Barnett's hat twitched as he tried to look every which way at once. He held the reins so tight that his horse danced sideways every few steps as it fed off his nervous energy.

Connor McClane glanced at the young man and fought back a smile. "It's fine, Amos. We're just here to talk. Nothing more, nothing less." Despite his assurances, his eyes darted to the shotgun holstered on his saddle and he focused on the comforting weight of the twin Peacemakers on his belt. Cora was right. It wasn't the smartest idea riding out to the Gaines's ranch without backup, but he saw no other way around it. Arriving with a cavalry at his back would have put them on the defensive immediately and may have resulted in a shootout. He really did just want to talk, and he hoped they did, too.

The wind whipped through the small canyon that led to the Gaines homestead. The sides were about twice the height of a man, great to hide on and still short enough to jump from when needed. It was the perfect place to set up an ambush. Connor had trouble with just such an issue before when he needed to bring Jed in for questioning on a stage coach robbery. It had almost cost him his life.

Dust and dried brambles blew across their path. Amos coughed and pulled his bandana up over his nose and mouth.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Amos. The boys might not take too kindly to you tryin' to look like one of them." Connor grinned at his deputy, even as he himself longed to pull his own bandana around his face. He blinked rapidly to clear the dust from his eyes and lowered his head to let his hat take the brunt of the next dust swirl.

"What's talking gonna do anyway?" Amos relaxed just a smidge and one hand settled onto the gun at his side.

Connor shifted in his seat and shrugged. "Not sure, to be honest. Mr. Richards has no proof o' the crime, just his word. And the man's a bit of a cheat himself. I wouldn't trust him far as I could throw him. That's why I want to talk to Jeremiah, give him the benefit of the doubt. You know the saying, 'Innocent until proven guilty' and all that."

Amos laughed. "The Gaines brothers were born guilty, sheriff. I've never once known them to be innocent of anything they were accused of. There was just a lack of evidence is all."

Connor smiled. "True, Amos, very true. But still, try not to ruffle any feathers just yet. Not unless we have to."

The horses rounded the last curve in the road and the small cliffs dropped off sharply on either side to reveal a wide open area nestled deep within the hills. Richard Gaines had stumbled across the canyon and accompanying meadow two generations ago, when Lonesome Ridge was still barely an outpost with just a dirt track running through the middle of it. He claimed it immediately, making his home in the safety of the valley. The town had been built up since then and now proudly claimed itself as one of the biggest towns in the area. That wasn't saying much, but it had a saloon and a hotel, a post office, and even a railroad station. It was the perfect place for someone new to the frontier to make their home in relative comfort, and it was also the perfect place for a family of outlaws to make their living. New homesteads were popping up all over the land outside of Lonesome Ridge, and the Gaines family wasted no time helping themselves to whatever they felt they were due at the time.

The little farm was almost as the sheriff remembered it. The small two-story cabin sat nearer to the entrance of the valley. A barn with room for four horses and two cows was behind it and to the right, accompanied by a large chicken coop that had seen better days. Several small fields grew along the cliff wall on the left, providing just enough food for the families who had lived there for nearly a hundred years.

But things weren't quite the same as when Connor was a boy. He frowned as he looked around. The fields were overgrown and crops had not been planted, probably for several years. Boards were falling off the barn and the chicken coop listed dangerously to one side. His eyes roved over to the house again. Weeds were doing battle with flowers trying to thrive along the front of the porch. One window was busted out and the rest were covered in dust. The fence between the barn and the house had holes in it big enough to let a bull through. No animals were visible in the enclosure or anywhere else. Connor used to visit the place frequently as a child and, despite their less than reputable nature, Ma and Pa Gaines always made sure their home was in top shape. They must have been rolling in their graves knowing it was in such a terrible state.

"The place looks pretty run down." Amos's voice was right in his ear. The young deputy had pulled his horse so close to Connor's that they were almost touching.

Out of the corner of his eye, the sheriff glimpsed a small white fence built around an apple tree. Richard Gaines had planted the tree when his first son was born. Six crosses dotted the area inside. Two of them were newer than the rest and Connor felt a sadness grow in his chest.

"Yep," he said as he steered his horse toward the house. "The boys need a good woman around this place to keep them in line."

Even as he spoke, the door to the porch opened and a man stepped out. He was about Connor's height, but more wiry. His dark hair wasn't long, just to his chin, but what was there was dirty and matted. He carried a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand and a big bunch of tobacco in his lower lip. He spat on the porch when his eyes met the sheriff's.

Connor kept his disgust hidden and walked his horse right up to the porch. He pulled her to a stop just in front of the steps and leaned over to rest a forearm on the horn of his saddle. Then the sheriff stared at the outlaw in front of him, waiting.

"McClane." The man spoke and gave a small bob of his head. Grudging respect, which was more than Connor had hoped for. The man turned his attention to Amos. "Dog." A small sneer tugged at the corner of his lips.

The deputy bristled and his hand went to his gun. "Now you listen here, you--"

Connor didn't move and didn't take his eyes off the man in front of him. "Barnett."

The deputy froze. His eyes darted between his boss and the outlaw. With the speed of molasses on a cold winter's day, he pulled his fingers off his gun and settled back onto his horse. Connor gave him a small nod.

"Jed," he said, turning his attention back to the outlaw. "The place is looking mighty untidy. You boys fallen on hard times lately?"

The man's nose curled and he spat again. "Nawp. Doin' just fine, sheriff. No need for frilly bullshit an' whatnot when I can get all I need elsewhere. Ain't worth workin' m'self to the bone when I ain't gotta."

Connor's eyebrow twitched upward momentarily. "I see." He paused and glanced around. A face was peering at him in the upper windows, but it darted away when he made eye contact. "Speaking of... where is Jeremiah these days?"

For a very telling moment, Jed Gaines's eyes darted to the side, then he spit some more. He leaned against the post at the top of the small flight of stairs and crossed his arms. Teeth as brown as cow dung stretched across his face when he smiled. "Yer guess is good as mine, sheriff." The last word shot from his mouth with more force than the chew juice had.

McClane was unmoved. "We just want to talk."
And to have a sip of that whiskey
, Connor thought.

Jed shrugged a shoulder. "Go ahead an' talk, then. I ain't seen him for days now. No ideer where he is."

Connor snorted and straightened in his saddle. "Don't try to fool me, Jedidiah Gaines. I know you better'n most. You can't get one of your lies past me and you know it."

The sheriff caught the look his deputy gave him, but he ignored it. "Where's Jeremiah?" he asked again. "And you best be straight with me."

Jed spit his whole wad of chew to the side. It splatted on the edge of the porch in an ever-growing pile of dried masticated tobacco. "Why? What's he done this time?" Annoyance bled into his voice.

Connor relaxed and fought back a smile. The Gaines brothers may be outlaws, but they usually had some semblance of honor. They would steal anything they wanted and kill any man to do it, but Jed held his brothers to high standards when it came to most other matters.

"Ol' Man Richards filed a complaint with me yesterday morning. Seems Jeremiah was over at his place the other day, insisting that he pay you boys a protection fee or his cattle'll go missing. Said Jeremiah shot his dog, a brand new pup. His daughter was mighty unhappy about the whole thing."

Jed laughed. "Richards? He's as crooked as I--" He snapped his mouth shut for a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened. "--as a bent penny."

Connor nodded in agreement. "Yep, that he is, but he did have a dead dog and a crying kid. That's why we're here to talk, to get Jeremiah's side of the story. No layin' blame if there's none to be laid."

Jed took his hat off and slapped it against his leg. A cloud of dust billowed off it and settled onto his pants. "Well, shit. A'right then." He turned around and hollered inside. "Jeremiah, get yer lyin' ass out here, ya filthy cur."

For a moment everything was silent. Then cursing and banging erupted inside the house. In short order, another man appeared in the doorway. He was about Jed's height but younger, with shoulder-length natty hair and a scruffy, matted beard. He was covered in filth and when he smiled, his teeth were rotten and brown like Jed's. He stumbled onto the porch behind his older brother.

Jed turned around and smacked him in the back of the head, then he grabbed Jeremiah's shirt and jerked him forward so they were face to face. "You been over at Old Man Richards's place lately? When I told you not to?"

"What? Naw, I ain't done nothin'."

Connor narrowed his eyes at Jeremiah. "He says you shot his dog."

Jeremiah sputtered. "I ain't never shot no dog. No women, no kids, no animals. That's what Jed always says. He'd whoop my ass if I did."

Jed shook him again and let him go. "Yer damn right. I've half a mind to whoop it right now."

Connor held up a hand. "Now, now. Let's not get hasty. Where were you three days ago, Jeremiah?"

The shaggy haired man glanced at his brother. "I didn't shoot no dog, I swear." His voice was that of a little boy who had been caught in half a lie and wanted to belay whatever punishment awaited him.

"Were you at the Richards place?"

He shuffled his feet and kicked at the dust. "Maybe for a bit."

"Did you threaten Mr. Richards at all?"

He glanced at his brother again. "Maybe some. But it was just fer fun. An' I didn't shoot no dog! Honest. There was a li'l puppy there, cute damn thing, too. But that whoremonger was kicking it and hollering at it the whole time. I bet he shot the darn thing himself."

Connor nodded and scratched the scruff on his chin as he eyed Jeremiah. "Yeah, you might be right about that."

"He has a temper," said a voice from inside. The door to the house opened and a young man stepped out. Jasper was the youngest of the Gaines brothers, a full fifteen years younger than Jed. Connor liked the kid. He was more reserved than his brothers and rarely got into any trouble that wasn't instigated by the other two. He had his mother's quiet demeanor and kept himself clean. When he smiled, which didn't happen very often, his teeth were white, not stained from years of tobacco use, and he kept his hair trimmed and his clothes washed.

"How are you today, Jasper?" Connor tipped his hat to the young man and received a nod in return.

"All right, Connor. And yourself?" His lips twitched into a small smile as he greeted the sheriff.

"Not too shabby. A fine day for a ride. Figured I'd bring Amos out to the old homestead and have a chat with you boys. Haven't seen you in awhile and I like to check in now and then, ya know, catch up on old times." He winked at the young man and Jasper laughed. It wasn't a harsh laugh like Jed's. It was softer and genuine.

"Want me to put the kettle on?" His blue eyes twinkled brightly even as he earned matching glares from his brothers.

"Nah," Connor said. "We should be getting back. It's getting dark. And the train's coming through tonight. Be best if Amos and I were there to steer the rabble in the right direction." He gave Jasper another wink and tipped his hat to the other brothers. "You fellas behave yourselves, all right?"

Jeremiah opened his mouth to respond, earning himself a hard smack on the back of the head by Jed. The oldest brother spoke up instead. "We always do, sheriff."

Connor snorted and turned his horse around. Amos trotted beside him, glancing behind them every few seconds to make sure the Gaines boys weren't trying to shoot them in the back.

****

The three brothers stood on the porch as they watched the sheriff and his deputy round the turn into the gulley. When they were out of sight and out of earshot, Jeremiah turned and smacked Jasper upside the head.

"No fraternizin' with the enemy, you idjit!"

Jasper was ready for it, though, and ducked out of the way so that the slap only slid off the side of his skull instead of giving him its full force. He was so used to it that it didn't really hurt, but he cringed appropriately and rubbed his hair. "Ow," he said, without feeling. "I was just being nice. Connor isn't a bad guy. He's just doing his job."

"His job, little boy," said Jed, stepping up beside Jeremiah to get in his youngest brother's face. "Is to make our lives more difficult. That don't sound like a very good job to me."