Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) (18 page)

Sleep weighed down Trace's lids. Without opening his eyes,
he reached out to pull Red's warm body against his, but found her side of the
bed empty, her pillow cool. She'd risen early and didn't want to disturb him.
He would've done the same.

Without her body there to hold onto, he chose the next best
thing and pulled her pillow toward him, breathing in the scent she'd left
behind on the white fabric.

Oh, how I love her.

"Trace!"

Fear coated his name and cut through the morning silence. He
bolted upright and wiped the balminess from his eyes, to remove the fog from
his brain and to make sense of what was going on.

"Get out here, Trace! Now!"

Wen
.

He pulled back the covers and fumbled with his boots,
tugging them over his bare feet. The urgency in Wen's voice led Trace to forgo
searching for trousers. He subconsciously reached for his jacket on the peg
near the door, only to find it missing.

Long johns and boots would have to suffice. If something
terrible happened, what would it matter anyway? He grabbed his rifle and opened
the door to the bitter cold. It nipped through his drawers, and he took a quick
intake of air.

"Damn," he said under his breath. If this was only
the beginning of winter, he didn't look forward to the frigid months ahead.

Caroline stood in her bedroom doorway with a blanket wrapped
tightly around her and over the shoulders of Fisher and Rivers, who flanked her
on either side. They all stared at the west tower.

Trace couldn't see Red anywhere, but
before he could ask after her, Wen yelled for him to get his hind end up the
ladder.

Five rungs into his climb, a realization hit him, and he
paused. No moans floated over the stone walls, and no broken fingers clawed
against the gates in an effort to get inside. Just silence. The zombies were a
constant background noise—a distant, off-putting hum everyone had grown
accustomed to. Without it, the silence grew thick and heavy.

Wen's presence at the top of the
tower should have sent the undead into a feeding frenzy, and knowing that, Trace
climbed faster.

"What's going on?" He pulled himself onto the
wooden platform, and his friend's expression relayed more information than his
words ever could.

"It's Red." Wen lifted his hand and pointed below
on the other side of the fort walls. "She's down there."

Trace scrambled to the railing.
Red outside the walls?
Impossible.

At first he didn't see her. The headless bodies littered the
ground like a forest of hewn down trees. Mounds of zombie corpses were splayed
in various directions with broken, mangled limbs. Decapitated heads stared
upward with wide, milky eyes and jaws that hung from broken pivots in an
eternal, silent moan. Thick, soupy blood poured from the necks of the severed
bodies, merging into one giant lake of blackened red.

The stench pierced his nostrils, and Trace covered his nose
with the crook of his arm to diffuse it. He couldn't imagine Red down there
among the diseased, in the midst of the gagging smell. Wen had to be wrong.

"Where?" Trace scanned the bodies. His stomach
constricted and balled up tight. He swept his eyes over the remains, and a
different kind of fear began to tear at his soul. Why would she leave the fort
and walk straight into a mob of undead?

"There!" Wen pointed, and Trace followed the
extension of his arm.

No wonder he hadn't seen her before. She knelt on the ground
amid the corpses, her thick locks matted and heavy with blood, obscuring her
features. Her blood-soaked nightgown clung to her tiny frame like a second
skin, as droplets ran down her arms and dripped from her elbows to pool at her
side.

Red looked up, as though sensing his
gaze on her, and the whites of her eyes ignited from behind her bloodied
bangs—moons in a darkened sky.

"Red!" He pressed against the railing, baffled by
what he was witnessing. What in the hell had happened? "We need to get her
back inside the gates! We need to—"

Wen placed his hand on Trace's shoulder. "How can we be
sure it's safe? How do we know
she's
safe?"

Trace shrugged Wen's hand away. "I'm not leaving her
out there, so don't even suggest it."

"No, it's just—" Wen shook his head. "Look at
her. Look at
them
! Come on, Trace, what am I supposed to think?"

Trace stepped face-to-face with Wen. "If it were
Caroline, what would you do?"

Wen matched Trace's stance. "Who do you think I'm
trying to protect?"

Friend and brother indeed.

"I'm going out to get her." Trace narrowed his
eyes, refusing to back down. "And I'm bringing her inside. If you have a
problem with that, then you better lock the gates behind me, because I'm either
bringing her in with me, or I'm not coming back at all."

Without waiting for a response, he took hold of the ladder
and started the climb down. He needed to get to Red, and had no time to argue
with Wen.

"Trace, come on." Wen shook his head. "I'm
worried, is all. You can't blame me for trying to keep us all safe."

Trace refused to look at him. "Do what you have to do,
Wen. Just do it quick."

***

Trace pushed the heavy gate open and stepped beyond the
safety of the fort into the grizzly battlefield of rotting corpses.

Damn, the smell is bad.
It
burned his nostrils and constricted his throat, which made it almost impossible
for him to breathe. He pressed his nose into the crook of his arm.

Careful not to step on a mangled body part or slip in the
bloody mess, he stepped over the various remains. The coagulated zombie blood
sucked at his boots, making each step difficult as he maneuvered through the
maze of arms, legs, and torsos.

Red just sat there with her head down, ignoring his
approach. The sword, coated in so much blood the silver metal became lost, lay
across her lap, and she clasped the handle with her sticky hands. The sun
appeared over the eastern hills and cast a red glow across the sky, making the
scene of slaughter appear even more gruesome.

"Red?" Trace stepped over one body and sidestepped
another to stand before her.

She looked up, but said nothing.

So many questions ran through his mind, but faced with her
sad expression, this wasn't the time to ask them. Later. Definitely later.

He knelt and reached out to push the matted hair from her
face, then used his thumbs to wipe away the blood that coated her face. He only
managed to smear it.

"Are you hurt? Bit?"

She shook her head.

He took her ice cold hands in his.
How long has she been
out here in the freezing weather?
He looked her over for signs of
frostbite, but with her body so slick with blood, he couldn't tell.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Just leave me here. Leave me
with them."

He slipped his arms under her, pulled her to his chest, and
started the precarious journey back to the gates. She pressed her face into his
neck and her tears warmed his skin. He would never leave her behind.

As he approached the gates, he wondered what Wen had decided
to do. If he'd bolted the gates into place, Trace would carry Red as far as he
was physically able. He also knew if Wen had shut them out, they'd be doomed to
death. With no food, freezing cold temperatures, and only the barest of
clothing, it wouldn't take long. They would have perhaps a few hours before
death.

But the gate stood open, just as Trace had left it.

He carried her inside and Wen stood ready to push the gate
closed behind them. He exchanged a look with Wen, but neither of them voiced
their concerns, both content to let it go for now.

"She's not hurt or bit, but she's freezing." Trace
carried her toward their room. "I need water. Lots of water."

Caroline took off for the kitchen. The kids said nothing as
they followed with shell-shocked eyes. Lasso growled and snipped at the air,
but Fisher wrapped his arms around the dog's neck to hold him back.

Trace kicked open the bedroom door with his foot and
deposited Red on the hearth; the bricks were still warm and the fire continued
to glow. He grabbed a blanket from their bed, wrapped it around her shoulders,
and tucked it in. He placed a few more logs on the fire and poked at the
embers, enticing them to take hold of the fresh wood.

Wen carried in the old galvanized tub and set it before the
fireplace without looking at Red. He stepped aside when Caroline entered and
dumped two large pails of steaming water into the metal bathtub. Without a
word, she took off again to gather more.

"I'll go help her," Wen said, and ducked out. He
never came back.

After two more trips and four buckets of water, Caroline had
nearly filled the tub. "Here," she said, placing a scrub brush and a
bar of lye soap on the table. "Use this. I'll bring more water as soon as
it heats up."

After the door closed behind her, Trace removed the blanket
from Red's shoulders and eased her out of the ruined nightgown. There was no
saving it, so he flung it into the fireplace and allowed the flames to consume
it.

He took her hands, led her shivering frame to the water, and
helped her climb inside the tub. She retracted a little, the warm water
stinging her chilled skin, but eventually lowered herself completely without a
word of protest. Trace knelt beside her with the brush in one hand and the bar
of soap in the other, and began to scrub her blood-caked arms. He poured water
over her shoulders to warm her, and as the water cooled, he called for Caroline
to fetch another pail.

The blood washed off her skin well
enough, but her hair proved more difficult. He ran his fingers through her
thick curls, scrubbing and detangling the knots as he worked the red mess from
her locks. When he finished, he poured pitcher after pitcher over her head,
which turned the bath water a translucent, murky pink.

All the while, Red quietly stared into the flickering light
of the fireplace, offering no resistance as Trace maneuvered her limp arms and
legs. So many things plagued his mind, but now wasn't the time for questions.
He resigned himself to the task of getting her clean—a rather large task, as it
happened.

Caroline brought in two more buckets of warm water and
placed them beside Trace, then pulled out a fresh gown and undergarments from
the wardrobe cupboard and set them on the bed.

"Is there anything else I can do?" She draped a
light blanket over a chair for Trace to use when Red climbed from the bath.

"No." Trace gave her an appreciative smile.
"You've done plenty. Thanks."

Caroline shoved her hands in the pockets of her apron.
"Just leave the bath water. I'll take care of it when you're done."

Trace nodded and Caroline left the two of them alone. He
took Red's hand and helped her to stand. He lifted the fresh pails of water
Caroline had brought in and poured each of them, in turn, over Red's shoulders
for a final rinse.

"Here you go." He grabbed the blanket and wrapped
it around her, gently patting her dry. "How does that feel?"

"Fine."

"You warming up some?"

She nodded, although still shivering. He quickly dried her
body and helped her into the clean clothes Caroline had laid out for her.

"Let's get you into bed." Trace pulled back the
blankets and waited for her to lie down. Without any argument, Red crawled
between the covers and Trace tucked them in around her. "I'll go get more
blankets and be right back."

On his way out, he grabbed the first blanket he'd wrapped
her in while she was still covered in blood, then the one he'd used to dry her
with, and wadded them up. They'd have to be burned as well.

He gathered two fresh blankets from the adjoining rooms and
carried them back to Red. Caroline dipped pails into the tub to be carried
outside and emptied. When he entered, she put her finger to her lips and
motioned to the bed.

Red slept in a fetal position, her chest rising and falling
peacefully. He wanted to ask her so many things, but it appeared he would have
to wait until later in the day.

He shook out the first blanket and spread it over her, then
did the same with the second. He brushed the damp curls from her forehead and
smoothed them aside, and pressed his lips to her brow.

"Not one bite. Not even a scratch." Wen placed his
hands on his waist and stared down at the ground. After a brief pause, he
raised his eyes and stared Trace square in the eye. "How do you explain
that?"

Trace appeared just as dumbfounded as Wen—her skill,
perhaps, although Red had only just learned to wield a sword. How could she
have already developed the strength and expertise to destroy even a handful of
walking dead, let alone decapitate over fifty in one go?

They would have swarmed her, made it
impossible for her to raise her arms and gather enough leverage to swing the
heavy sword. The zombies should have taken her down within minutes of stepping
outside the gates.

Yet they hadn't.

"She's not dangerous," Trace said. "If that's
what you're afraid of."

"She wasn't bit." Wen let his hands drop from his
waist. "Something ain't right about that."

"What the hell are you saying, Wen? You telling me it
would've been better if she'd been bitten?"

"No!" Wen shook his head, frustrated. "Damn
it, Trace, open your eyes! Something's different with her."

"Of course something's different with her! We've known
that from the beginning—"

"You know that's not what I'm talkin' about." Wen
furrowed his brow.

Trace stepped up to him. "What
are
you talking
about? What're you saying exactly?"

"Do you think I'd be standing here arguing with you if
I knew
exactly
what was going on? I just know something's not quite
right, whereas you're in some kind of denial."

"Denial? Wen, this is Red we're talkin' about. She'd
never do anything to hurt us. In fact, she's saved both our lives on more than
one occasion."

Wen pointed at the bolted gates. "She opened them,
Trace! She got up in the night, removed the boards, and opened the gates
knowing full well the uglies were on the other side. They could've slipped
inside the fort and destroyed all of us. We were asleep and wouldn't have been
able to do a damn thing to protect ourselves."

It was a foolish move on Red's part. Trace wanted to give
her the benefit of the doubt, but couldn't come up with a reasonable
explanation for her actions. Had she even considered the danger she'd placed
them in? Maybe not, which was even more worrisome.

He needed to talk to her, but until he wrapped his head
around the situation, his questions would only lead her to believe he doubted
her. Once he stepped over that line, it would prove difficult to regain her
trust.

"She's dangerous," Wen said. "Maybe not like
the uglies, but she is. We can't afford to take chances with our lives, not
with Caroline expecting a—" Wen paused and lifted his dark eyes to meet
Trace's.

"With Caroline expecting what?" In his gut, Trace
already knew the answer.

Wen swallowed, and Trace saw his eyes watering with emotion.
"She's having a baby." There was no rejoicing or delight. Just fear.
"She's pregnant."

Trace released his breath, removed his hat, and clasped it
to his midsection. No wonder his friend reacted the way he did. A baby.
Damn
.
At a time such as this, a baby wasn't anything to celebrate.

"We're gettin' low on food and supplies," Wen
continued. "We only have a few months at best before we have to make some
decisions, and I can't risk moving Caroline outside these walls. It just isn't
safe." He slumped against the rock wall and stared at the dirt. "Red
can't be taking chances like that. We can't afford it. Not now."

"I'll talk to her." Trace placed a hand on his
friend's shoulder. "I don't know why she did it. I don't even know
how
she did it. But after I talk with her, I'm sure she'll never do it again."

A sense of despair and concern etched itself into Wen's
features. "What're we gonna do? How we gonna get food and supplies? And
how in the world are we gonna protect a baby?"

"We'll find a way," Trace said, nodding. "We
will. I promise."

Caring for a baby couldn't be that much more difficult than
caring for two kids and an infirm old man. Nonetheless, the prospect of a baby
terrified Trace. Babies cried. Babies smelled. Babies would attract zombies en
masse. The kids and the old man could at least fire guns. Babies were helpless
and uncontrollable. The idea of that scared him the most.

Nope, it wasn't a good time to bring a baby into the world,
providing Caroline even made it to full term in the first place. A pregnant
woman brought a whole different set of problems. They didn't need that kind of liability,
but Trace didn't say as much.

Instead, he gave Wen a firm pat on the shoulder before
placing his hat back on his head. "It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna
be just fine."

***

Red overheard them talking. She couldn't make out their
exact words, but the tone of their conversation traveled easily through the
walls. No doubt their argument had everything to do with her and what she'd
done, because really, what else could it be?

They wanted answers and they deserved them, but Red had none
to give. The longer she lay there listening, the more she didn't want to talk
at all. Not yet anyway.

She slipped from the bed and noticed that, despite Trace's
considerable efforts to clean her body of the zombie blood, she'd left hints of
red and pink on the bed linens.

The wardrobe stood empty except for a pair of pants, so she
slipped them up and over her nightgown. It would be another matter all together
to find her one pair of boots. One stood stoically drying out near the
fireplace, still stained with blood. The other had vanished somewhere in the
chaos she'd caused.

After checking around the room and coming up empty-handed,
Red knelt next to the bed and reached into the darkness underneath. Her hand
grazed the cracked leather, and as she clasped onto the boot to draw it out,
the back of her hand brushed a set of papers tucked into the underside of the
wooden frame of the bed she shared with Trace. Most likely a previous tenant
had hid them, but curiosity got the better of her and she pulled the papers
out.

She walked over to the fireplace—one boot on, one bare
foot—and could just make out the words printed on the crinkled papers. It
shouldn't have surprised her to see her own picture staring back up at her, but
it did. John was capable of anything. But the knowledge that the wanted posters
belonged to Trace, and that he'd hidden them from her, pained her most.

She kept looking at them—first one, then the other. The
price on her head had increased dramatically with the second printing, doubling
her worth. Then Red looked at the gold band on her finger and realized she'd
been played for a fool once more.

Trace was no better than John.

***

"Any of you seen Red?" Trace stomped the freshly
falling snow from his boots and brushed off his shoulders before stepping inside
the kitchen.

"Isn't she in your room, sleeping?" Caroline
turned from the steaming kettle hanging over the flames of the fireplace.
"I figured I'd just let her be. Give her some time after last night."

"That's kind of you," he said. "But no, she
wasn't there. I thought she might be here with you."

"I saw her earlier." Rivers looked up from where
she and Fisher sat kneading dough and patting it out into small cakes.
"She sat on the edge of the bed all quiet. I asked her if she needed
anything, but she just shook her head."

Caroline struggled to her feet, and Trace went to her and
offered his arm. Sure enough, a small belly bump pressed against her apron. How
had he not noticed before? He hoped he wasn't the only man in the world
oblivious to the most obvious of things.

Caroline glanced at Trace with fear in her eyes, knowing Wen
must have told him their secret. "I'm sorry." She self-consciously
tugged at her apron. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Don't be sorry," he said. "Like I told Wen,
it'll be okay. I'll do everything in my power to ensure that you all stay safe.
You have my word."

Caroline relaxed a little, but continued to grasp the apron
in her fist. "Maybe Red's in the barn checking on the animals. Did you
look there?"

"I'll do that now. If you need anything, let me
know."

He slipped outside and shut the door behind him. The snow
fell more heavily, dusting everything in white and making it difficult to see
more than a few feet ahead. He flipped up the collar of his coat, pulled it
tight against his neck, and tucked his hands inside his jacket. It was a good
thing they'd picked all the remaining fruit off the trees and pulled the last
of the carrots and potatoes out of the garden a few days before. They wouldn't
have made it through the winter otherwise.

The animals paid him no mind when he entered the barn, but
simply ate the handful of feed allotted to them. The small quantity of food
wouldn't satisfy their hunger, but it would keep them alive. They all had to
make do so their stores would last until spring. That was the hope, anyway.

Trace noticed boney ribs beginning
to peek through the fur and hair on some of the animals, and wondered just how
many they'd lose before then.

Red wasn't in the barn. Although the compound of the fort
was rather sizable, one couldn't really become lost. With its central, open
courtyard, he would've crossed paths with Red at some point. He checked Ira's
room, thinking she might have decided to visit with him. The old man read a
book by the fire, alone. He attempted to ask Ira whether he'd seen Red, but the
old man's hands, though firing rapid messages, told him nothing. Trace still
found it difficult to read his signs, though he tried.

He checked several outbuildings where Red might be, but she
seemed to have just vanished. He stood in the middle of the courtyard, fighting
a storm that brewed in intensity with each passing minute. It rolled over the
plains and threatened to drown the fort with it.

"Red!" He heard the desperation in his own voice.
"Red!"

No response. He cupped his hands around his mouth and tried
again. "Elisabeth!"

Wen appeared next to him and pulled his hat down over his
eyes to block out the snow. "What's going on?"

"Have you seen Red around?"

"No, not today."

Trace knew Wen had been avoiding her, so his answer was no
surprise.

"I'll help you look," Wen offered. "You take
the rooms on the south, and I'll go check everything on the north side. If I
find her, I'll let her know you're lookin' for her."

Trace flung open door after door, continuing to call out her
name. A horrible panic settled in his chest as each opened door offered nothing
more than emptiness.
Where the hell is she?

He entered their shared room, taking a moment of reprieve
from the bitter wind and sleet to put some perspective on the situation. She
must be there somewhere. Maybe Wen had better luck than he did.

He made for the door to look for Wen, when he saw it—the
glimmer of light on metal. The firelight caught its smooth surface and set it
shimmering in the darkened room.

In the center of the wooden table, deliberately positioned
on top of the wrinkled wanted posters, sat the metal cigar band he'd slipped on
her finger weeks before.

He spun on his heels and threw the wardrobe doors open, hoping
he was wrong. Just as he feared, the wardrobe stood empty. His knapsack no
longer hung from the wooden peg. His pistols and hunting knife had disappeared.
She'd removed part of the bedding, a small blanket, and the kerosene lantern
from the bedside table.

She'd taken whatever she could get her hands on, but Trace
knew it wasn't nearly enough, not in this weather. Did she even take any food? Something
to make a fire? The animals were all accounted for, so if she truly left, she'd
done so on foot—a death walk.

She was going to die out there.

***

Red knew that continuing to walk the plains in the midst of
a snowstorm would kill her. With nothing to shield herself from the fierce
wind, she turned toward the mountains. Though equally dangerous, it was her
only option as the snowfall turned violent.

She fought against the wind and snow
one aching footstep at a time and scanned the horizon for a tree line—something
to put a cross-break between her and the weather. Too much hung on the line to
die now.

The wind blew horizontally and snow slapped her bare cheeks
with frozen claws. A feeling of physical and emotional numbness took over. She
pulled her scarf over her nose and lips in a pitiful attempt at protection, but
left her eyes vulnerable to the stinging crystals that pierced her sight. Soon
she'd be blind to everything around her.

Originally, she'd set out toward the north, but she no
longer knew which direction her footsteps carried her. She could very well be
walking in circles.

Going back wasn't an option—not with a large bounty on her
head and a deceitful bounty hunter for a husband. So she kept moving forward.
Much as she wanted to drop to her knees and close her eyes, if she even took a
moment to rest, she'd die.

She held the lantern with her fingertips and it rocked back
and forth. The flame clung to life behind its glass enclosure—hope in the form
of a flicker. If it went out, she'd be lost in the dark, so she held it close
to her chest.

A few trees rose from the earth like giants amid the
sagebrush and low-lying bushes. Tired and numb, her hands shook in response to
the cold creeping into her core. She reached forward, took hold of a branch,
then another, and crawled near the trunk. With her back against the rough bark,
she set the lantern aside and gathered her frozen fingers to her mouth. She
blew warm air over them with shivering lips and rubbed them together. She felt
nothing.

The tree didn't provide much protection from the elements.
It certainly wouldn't be enough to tide her over until the storm ended. Even
though she desperately wanted to rest, to sit beneath the tree and do nothing
more, she forced herself to rise and continue moving. She snapped off some low
hanging branches, thick with needles, and piled them on the ground near the
base of the tree. Her frozen fingers bent and broke branch after branch.
Satisfied, she began to scoop snow, creating a mound first on one side of the
trunk, then on the other. She laid the branches across the top to bridge the
mounds and create a roof—minimal and gaping. It would have to do.