L’IL GAL AL AND THE ZOMBIES OF AMARILLO
By Christine Rains
L’il Gal Al and the Zombies of Amarillo
By Christine Rains
Copyright 2012
Cover design by Christine Rains Copyright 2012
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Other Books by Christine Rains
Fearless
Dedication
To all the brave cowboys and cowgirls who love a good scary tale.
Table of Contents
L’il Gal Al and the Zombies of Amarillo
Acknowledgements
About the Author
L’il Gal Al and the Zombies of Amarillo
Alma still wore the Hutchinson's girl’s blue dress as they approached town. Yet she had taken off the ridiculous bonnet and replaced it with her own worn leather hat. Even though she had successfully gotten the settlers to Amarillo, she still scowled. Something wasn’t right in the air.
Two horses with full tackle plodded along behind her smaller gelding. It was part of her deal that she got to keep and sell anything she wished if she managed to kill off the bandits plaguing travelers in the Texas Panhandle. She would get a pretty penny for the horses to add to what the settlers paid her.
Swishing some saliva around in her mouth, she spat on the ground to get rid of the dust she kept tasting. It looked a bit yellow. Everything around there was just too yellow. The creek bubbled along like liquid gold, and countless flowers grew about that shocked the eye with their bright color.
The head wagon picked up speed to catch up with her. She didn’t bother to look back as it approached. The horses snorted, one after the other, and she sighed with them.
“Miss Alma!” The driver called. “I just wanted to get a chance to say a proper thanks to ya before ya go on yer way to do whatever business you need to do. Without you, we’d not have made it. We all owe you our lives. Anythin’ we can ever do fer ya—”
“I’ll just be wantin’ my pay fer the escort and nothin’ else, Hutchinson.” Alma waved a hand, dismissing all the ridiculous exclamations of thanks and whatnot. “Oh, and I’ll be getting this here dress back to yer daughter. It’s got a bit of blood on it, but I s’pose she could use it fer working in the mud or whatever.”
A bit of blood was an understatement. Alma had slit the throat of one bandit and the entire front of the skirt was covered with a great red stain that still was a bit sticky in spots.
“No worries, no worries.” Matthew Hutchinson nodded, the picture of gratefulness. He stuck a hand down in the deep pockets of his trousers and pulled out a little coin purse. “It’s all there as promised. We’d like to have you over fer dinner one night soon. It’s the least we can do and you know my wife’s cookin’.”
“I don’ know how long I’ll be around. If there’s a job fer me to do, I might be gone come sunrise t’morrow.” She made a motion with her hand for him to toss the money to her.
Hutchinson threw the purse to her and gave a regretful sigh. “Always on the go, aren’t ya, Miss Alma? You should stay around fer a while and put up yer boots. You might find you like it in this place.”
She turned a narrowed eyed gaze at him as if she could read his mind and caught the purse with a deft hand. Alma grunted and nudged her horse onwards a bit faster to leave the settlers behind. “It’s too yellow here.”
The town had only just popped up a year or so ago along the new railroad. People were saying it was going to be a major hub for trading. All it meant for Alma was another place to restock her supplies and find a job. She always got too restless if she stayed in a town for longer than a few days. Some people said she was running from something or someone, but she knew the truth of it.
She passed the shacks on the edge of town and moved to the cluster of larger buildings downtown. Alma growled under her breath seeing the street was blocked off by a crowd of folks. As she drew closer, she saw them gawking at some idiot on the porch roof of a tavern. The local sheriff and a few others were calling to the man, but he shouted back something unintelligible and fired a shotgun off to the side.
Making another irritated noise, she slid down off Coyote’s back. With her eyes still on the crazed man, she tied his reins to the post of a corner building. She rubbed his reddish snout and stalked off toward the tavern. “You stay here and keep an eye on the two bitches behind you. I got to clear the road fer us.”
She pushed through the crowd. A woman wept as the sheriff tried to smooth talk the one they were calling Boone. Whispers floated about, and she stopped near the front, glaring up at the drunken idiot. “What in hell is goin’ on?”
A man with a bushy mustache peered down at her, giving her a suspicious look, less wary than the one he cast upwards at Boone. “It’s evil spirits. They got a hold of him.”
Those words caused more frightened rustlings to ripple through the crowd.
“Spirits, my ass.” Alma snorted and forced her way closer to the over-hang on which the man sat. A different sort of liquid spirits was the cause of this. His hair stuck out at wild angles, his eyes vacant and his face colorless. She judged he must have been drinking for days straight to get that look. She reached around to her pack and unhooked her whip. It reached ten feet when she unfurled it all, twice her size.
With a swift flick of her arm, there was a snap that silenced everyone. The whip wrapped about Boone’s wrist. She gave it a yank so that he would drop the shotgun, which went tumbling down beside the weeping woman, almost hitting her on the head. Alma hurried over in the other direction, keeping the length taunt. She braced herself and then gave a good hard jerk.
As she predicted, Boone was so drunk that he fell off the roof and into a great mud puddle in front of her. A groan bubbled up from his chest, and he writhed like a pig in heat.
It took a little extra work to get her whip free. She coiled it as she left the man who was muttering about demons still. Leave it to pea brained settlers to get in their heads that a drunk man had to be possessed by evil spirits. She was sure she’d hear what a good man Boone was, that he would never drink himself into such a state, if she stuck around to do so.
The crowd parted to make way for her as two men and a woman bustled over to the drunkard’s side. They wrapped him up swiftly in a blanket, shutting the sight of him off from the world.
The sheriff turned to follow her. “My thanks, Miss. I wasn’t sure how I was goin’ to get him down there myself ’cept through waitin’ fer him to fall off.”
Alma didn’t even glance at the lean young man. “Shootin’ him would have worked too.”
“Uh… yes, I guess it would have, but out of respect for his family....” His long strides easily kept up with her much shorter ones. “May I ask yer name, Miss? I’m Will Mabrey, the sheriff here in Amarillo.”
“You can ask, but—” She was cut off by Hutchinson approaching on his wagon.
“Why that’s Miss Alma Sweeney, Sheriff! She ’companied my family and friends on our way here. Took care of some bandits out there on the road.” Hutchinson beamed a grin which showed how many teeth he was missing. “Surely y’all heard of Alma Sweeney!”
She knew it was coming now. The faster she got out of this town the better. Her feet picked up their pace back towards Coyote who waited patiently for her as he scratched his snout along the post.
“Oh! L’il Gal Al!”
It wasn’t Mabrey who said it, but if she knew who on the street did say it, they would have had
one less kneecap at the moment. The reason Alma could fit into Hutchinson’s daughter’s dress was because she was a tiny woman. Scrawny would be the more appropriate term. If she put on a child’s clothes and shadowed her face with a bonnet, she could pass as an adolescent. It was her typical ploy in luring bandits out, and thinking her defenseless, she could then get the advantage over them. Her tactics earned her that particular name, but only a man with a death wish dared say it to her face.
Alma untied her horse, ignoring the hoots and hollers from a few idiots, and started leading Coyote up the muddy street. She didn’t look back. Countless lives she’d saved, but folks still treated her like a freak show.
The sheriff hurried to catch up with her. “That was quite the impressive tale that Mister Hutchinson told me. You’re a brave young woman and obviously quick on the draw. If ya handle a gun as well as do a whip, I’d be more ’n glad to offer you a position as deputy here. I could use the help.”
“Not interested.”
“Well, maybe as long as you’re in town, if you want to earn a few extra dollars…” Mabrey was persistent if not one to catch a not-so-subtle hint.
“All I want is to sell the mares back there and get ’em off my hands. Then I want a good meal and a bed. I have that well covered, thank you, Sheriff.”
“I could take you to just the man to give ya a good price on the horses. As fer hotels, the best one in town is the Ivory Pistol but it’s also the most expensive and right in the center of downtown. If ya don’t mind some place smaller, my sister has a place with six rooms. It’s not as fancy, but it’s quieter and less expensive. Plus my sister’s a marvelous cook.”
Alma stopped, cutting him off. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way. I just came off the road and I have no mind fer company.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I should have remembered my manners.” Mabrey pulled at his collar. “Jim Teller has a small saddle shop in the red building at the other end of the street. He’ll take the mares. My sister’s hotel is the Yellow Moon, and if ya just follow the edge of town around to the west from Jim’s, you’ll see it.”
“It would have to be yellow.” Alma muttered under her breath and was already walking away, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, Sheriff.”
She found Teller easily enough, and he was more than pleased to take the two equines from her. Alma pocketed the bills and walked Coyote in a leisurely pace around the edge of town to where she did find the Yellow Moon.
Mabrey’s sister, Joanna Berry, was expecting her when she arrived and looked near to be Will’s twin. She was tall and thin with wide dark eyes as well as an annoyingly friendly disposition. It was actually Joanna’s husband who owned the hotel, but he also owned a bank that required much of his attention.
“Ya might wanna get over to the church and get a blessing before the day’s out.” Joanna suggested as she led Alma up to her room. She leaned down to whisper as if they weren’t alone. “You’ve probably angered the spirits and they’ll be looking fer some revenge. Best not take any chances when it comes to those matters.”
Alma rolled her eyes as the other woman turned back around. “I’ve no dealings with spirits. They can just take their business elsewhere.”
Joanna’s hand fluttered up to her throat, looking a little paler than before. She hastily made the sign of the cross and put a kindly hand on Alma’s shoulder. “Strange things have been happenin’ here recently. First t’was just the animals that were afflicted, dyin’ and actin’ strangely. Boone was the first of the men to succumb to them. There was no other reason found why any of this could be happenin’. I know you’re a brave woman, but this is no time to take any such chances.”
Alma narrowed her eyes. She had seen a drunk man, not a dead one. She then motioned to the door marked with the number two. “I assume that’s my room. I’m gonna go in and change, wash up a bit. If you have anythin’ ready down in the kitchen to eat, I’d appreciate a meal. If not, I’ll take my chances and have myself a good, long sleep before eatin’ rather than after.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Alma. That’s yer room. Hope you find it comfortable. The pillows and quilts are finely made, stuffed with feathers. My husband insists.” Joanna replied, a bit flustered. “Uh, yes, I do have some beef stew, if you’d like. I just have to heat it up a bit fer ya.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be down in ’bout ten minutes.” Alma pushed past her and disappeared into her room.