*
The zombie appeared in front of Alma as if it had come from nowhere. The rain near blinded both her and Coyote. Dimmed all the senses.
Coyote reared back and screeched, nearly nose to nose with it. His flailing front legs knocked the zombie to the ground. He came down hard on it, crushing it with his hooves into the mud.
Alma held tight, cursing this town and trying to pull her horse back. Once he had settled onto all fours, she jumped off with her gun drawn and put a bullet in the head of the dead. It wasn’t necessary. Coyote did a good job of shattering its skull, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Sweet Jesus!” Mabrey stumbled through the rain to her side. He bent down, hand hovering over the ruined face and twitching as if he wanted to touch it or throw up. “I knew her. Sweet ol’ Hettie. She loved this place. Always had a pie fer me.”
“No time to think of yer stomach. Come on!” Alma grabbed Coyote’s reins and thought better of it. If there were more, he needed to fend for himself. He wouldn’t go far without her. She patted his side and trudged through the mud. Water rose the farther west she went, and she hopped up on a porch with an overhang to get a better look.
Her breath caught in her throat and her blood turned cold. Give her a nest of rattlers any day over this.
“Sheriff! Look.” Alma swept a hand out before her.
Mabrey stepped up to stand with her, sucked in a breath, and muttered a prayer.
Almost a dozen zombies stalked along the street. The mud and water slowed them, but didn’t deter them. Three pounded at locked doors. Either no one was left in their homes, or they were smart enough to stay inside.
“Joanna.” Mabrey leapt off the porch, shielding his face against the rain with his arm. Alma splashed behind him.
A zombie lurched at him, snatching at his jacket. Mabrey careened to one side, fumbling for his gun. Alma kicked the creature in the knee with the heel of her boot. It snapped and tumbled. A bullet through an empty eye socket finished the deed.
She ran ahead of the sheriff, loading her gun, and pushed open the door of the Yellow Moon. It was warm and much too quiet inside. Mabrey tromped in behind her, shattering the eerie tranquility.
“Joanna!” He raced and peered into the kitchen. Twisting back to the main room, he called out again. “Joanna! John!”
Alma held her spot to the side of the door, the wall behind her and fire to her left. She slapped the bolt into place, but she doubted the zombies would come here. Water dripped off her making a puddle on the floor.
Farrell lay motionless by the fireplace. His chest rose and fell. Drunk himself unconscious. He was probably the lucky one here.
Joanna hurried down the stairs holding a heap of towels in her arms. Berry came from his room wiping his glasses with a kerchief. Alma pointed her gun at him and cocked it. The click louder than the crackle of the fire.
“What’s goin’ on here?” Berry puffed up his chest, anger running red in his cheeks. He stuffed his glasses and kerchief away in his pockets.
“Thank God you’re all right,” Mabrey said to his sister before turning his attention to the furious banker. “The dead are walkin’ t’night. Lots of ’em. And t’wasn’t Sanborn sendin’ ’em out.”
“What do you mean? The greedy bastard is out to ruin us. He wants to take the whole town fer himself. Got them slaves to do it fer him.” Berry’s jowls jiggled.
“Weren’t Sanborn.” Mabrey shook his head and glanced at Alma. “Alma has another theory. Don’t see how it can be true, but I’ll hear her out. Care to share?”
“It’s the feathers. All the feathers you got stuffed in everythin’. Protectin’ yerself while ya drive off all yer friends. They sell their land to yer bank. Real cheap too. You get this whole side of town fer yerself and sell it back later at high prices when ya ruin the east side.” The minds of bankers were no mysteries. All they thought about was money and how to get more of it.
Berry sputtered with his fury. Joanna stepped forward. “What are ya talkin’ about, Miss Alma? John wouldn’t do such a thin’. He was attacked by one of those evil spirits himself. You were here. You saw it.”
“It’s true.” The sheriff dipped his head.
“I think iffin’ that unholy thin’ wanted Berry dead, it would’ve done it. It could move fast, but why didn’t it?” Alma raised her brows. Her hand didn’t waver. She’d been fooled into thinking it was Sanborn, but she wouldn’t be made a chump of twice.
“Wake up, Farrell. I’m thinkin’ he knows somethin’.” Alma added.
“Now I don’ think—” Joanna stopped and sighed as Mabrey walked over and gave Farrell a little shake. When the old man didn’t wake, he said his name softly and rolled Farrell toward him. A wet and sticky sound followed the movement of his head.
“Dammit!” Mabrey knelt down and inspected the gash on the side of the Farrell’s head. It seemed as though the drink hadn’t taken him down after all. The sheriff stood up, hand resting on his gun. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“I told ya. Berry’s a greedy sonovabitch.” Alma sneered. “Farrell said a bit too much earlier. Isn’t that right, Berry?”
“I don’ know what yer insinuatin’ but—”
“John,” Mabrey’s voice was the calm in a storm. “How ’bout you take a seat and we’ll have a nice chat.”
“Will, you can’t possibly think I’d do such a thin’!” Berry held up his hands and then pointed at Joanna. “It was her! She’s a witch. Wanted so much I wasn’ givin’ her. I couldn’t say anythin’. She’s my wife. You understand me, right, Will?”
Joanna gasped and dropped the towels she was carrying. They rolled, displaying blood stains. Her hands fluttered to cover her mouth as if holding back a scream.
“That’s a cruel and untrue accusation. Joanna’s no witch.” The sheriff scoffed, but his confident stance weakened a bit when he saw the stained towels. “What happened there, Joanna?”
“It’s nothin’. No. I’m not a witch.” Joanna shook her head, jerking like she was a zombie herself.
Alma’s arm swiveled to Joanna and then back to Berry. Her face pinched with indecision. She was a woman who knew herself and her enemies. It was always so clear, but the night had chewed away at her from the inside out. She’d been wrong about Sanborn. Yeah, he was still a bastard, but he hadn’t been sending the dead out to murder. Was she wrong about Berry too? Her guts told her he was the one, but Joanna lived in a house of feathers too. She had the motivation and there were the bloody towels. Women folk could be more tricksy than men.
“She’s a witch!” Berry pointed at his wife, finger shaking.
“Shut up! Yer a horrible man.” Joanna screamed.
What ate most at Alma’s insides was that no one was denying anything. Her heart pounded so hard it vibrated her ears. Something knocked against the door, and she jumped farther to the side. The others ignored it.
“Calm down, everyone. Yer not a witch, I know it. Sit, please.” Mabrey pulled out a chair and motioned to his sister. She didn’t budge.
“Witch!” Berry accused again.
“John, that’s enough.” Mabrey snapped and stepped toward the other man. “Sit down before things get ugly.”
“An’ you’ll do what? Ya don’ have it in ya, Will.”
This time it wasn’t a knock, but a full on meaty thud. The door held, but something wanted through the door and it wasn’t done trying.
“Don’t you say such a thin’ to my brother!” Joanna screeched and pulled a knife from her apron. Alma aimed her gun at her. Sweat trickled down and stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly and swiped at her forehead.
With another bang, the door bulged inward. The bolt cracked. A second hit and it crashed open.
The zombie was big and recently dead too. No rot slowed it down as it darted toward Mabrey and snatched him around his neck. Joanna screamed, falling to her knees. The sheriff fought like a badger caught in a trap.
Alma emptied her Colt into th
e dead bastard, but it barely flinched. Black blood oozed like sludge from the holes.
Dropping to one knee to reload, a bullet zipped over her head. Without finishing, she rolled to one side and shot Berry in the stomach. His gun fell from his hands, and with wide shocked eyes, he toppled over onto his rear, curling up on himself.
The zombie went rigid, shuddered, and sunk to the floor. Its unnatural life gone. Mabrey managed to take hold of the back of the chair and keep to his feet.
It was Berry. The slimy bastard. Her gut was right. Alma holstered her gun, hands shaking too much for her liking. Her sharp gaze went to Joanna and the bloody towels in front of her.
Joanna shook with her sobs and hugged herself. As if feeling Alma’s gaze upon her, she managed to say something. “The towels. They were yers. From when you was cleanin’ up the other night.”
The storm had quieted, but Joanna’s tears had just begun. Mabrey lowered himself next to his sister and put his arms around her.
Alma stood up and approached Berry. He hadn’t uttered a peep as he died, and she made certain the bastard was dead. No pulse and a great pool of blood on the polished wood floor. She left him where he was and rolled up her sleeves. There was some cleaning up that needed to be done, and Berry’s was the last body she was going to drag out.
*
Coyote frisked a bit, excited to be heading out on another excursion. She patted his neck and told him to be patient as the luggage was loaded up on the stagecoaches. They were heading into New Mexico. She’d never been out that way and was just as raring to go as her horse.
“Miss Alma.” The sheriff walked up beside her and laid a friendly hand on the gelding’s head. “It’s a pity you’re leavin’ so soon. Many of us here would like to see ya stay in Amarillo, even if it’s just fer a little while longer.”
“It rains too much here fer my likin’.” Alma replied, adjusting in her saddle.
Mabrey chuckled and held up a cloth wrapped package to her. “Joanna made you some biscuits and spiced jerky fer the road.”
“Tell her thanks fer me then.” A surprise. Alma never expected to hear a peep from Joanna again, but it appeared not all folk held grudges. She took the package and secured it in the top of her saddlebag without looking the sheriff’s way.
He was silent for a moment and then cleared his throat a bit. “You always have a job here as deputy as well. You could be sheriff, if ya wanted. You saved my life the other night.”
“Amarillo has only one sheriff and that’s you, Mabrey.” Alma turned her head as she saw the stagecoaches slowly starting out. “’Bout time I need to be leavin’.”
“You take care of yerself, Miss Alma.” Will smiled. He tipped his hat to her, stepping away from Coyote.
“You too, Sheriff.” Alma gave him a small smile and turned her mount about to trot off after the line of coaches. She sneezed once with all the dust being kicked up and wiped at her nose with her sleeve. It was a bit yellow. She grunted and hoped that New Mexico had neither zombies nor that dreadful color.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Thank you so very much to my amazing critique partners, Cherie Reich and Tania Walsh. With your keen eyes and wisdom, we’ve smoothed the plot bumps and made my old western dialogue readable.
Hugs and kisses to my husband and son who encourage my wild imagination.
A special thank you to you, the reader. This is my treat for you because you make all the hard work worthwhile.
About the Author
Christine Rains is a writer, blogger, and geek mom. She has four degrees which help nothing with motherhood but make her a great Jeopardy player. When she’s not writing or reading, she’d be having adventures with her son or watching cheesy movies on SyFy Channel. She has two novellas and sixteen short stories published. She's a member of S.C.I.F.I.
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