Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western

Massacre

at

Lonesome Ridge

(Book #1)

By

Samantha Warren

© 2014 Samantha Warren

The following story is a work of fiction and all names and characters are strictly the creation of the author.

All rights reserved.

This publication may not be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without expressed written consent from Samantha Warren.

Cover Art

©
Kuco
|
Dreamstime.com

©
Hannu Viitanen
|
Dreamstime.com

"Did you have lessons with your grandfather today?"

Little Bear's nose wrinkled as he followed Summer Rain back from the river and he kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. "Yes," he mumbled through his frown.

A tinkling laugh danced across the prairie and the young woman grinned at him. "It's a good thing you don't have to be the tribe's shaman just yet. We would be in a lot of trouble."

Little Bear ignored the comment and jogged up in front of her to stop her on the path. He brushed a strand of hair back from Summer Rain's face and her cheeks colored slightly as she lowered her head and raised her dark eyes to him. Her raven black hair was done up in matching braids and she carried a full pot of water under one arm.

"I spoke with your father yesterday," said Little Bear as he slipped the pot from her grasp and led her down the path away from the river.

"Oh?" Summer Rain plucked a daisy from the edge of the worn path and tucked it into one of her braids. "What about?"

The young man glanced back. She stood a few feet from him with her fingers clasped in front of her. The corner of her lips quivered as she fought back a smile. Little Bear took a step toward her, then another, until he was looking down at her. His knuckles brushed along her jawline. "You know what we were talking about."

Summer Rain lost the battle against her smile and her lips broke into a grin. "What did he say?"

Little Bear tilted toward her and slipped his fingers around the back of her neck. "We will be wed at the next full moon."

Before she could respond, he pressed his lips against hers. They were warm and sweet, exactly as he had always imagined. She leaned into him and returned the kiss briefly, but with a slight gasp, she pushed her hands against his chest to break their embrace.

"Not yet, Little Bear. We must wait."

"Summer..." Little Bear reached for her, but she had already turned and started walking back toward the village. Water splashed onto the dusty ground as he trotted to catch up.

She rounded a curve in the path and disappeared behind the tall grasses for a moment. She was staring at the valley below with her hands pressed against her cheeks. Below them, their small village sprawled across the dip where three hills met.

He cocked his head to the side and slipped his free arm around her waist. "What--"

Summer Rain held up a hand. He followed her outstretched finger across the valley to the hill opposite them. Dozens of men on horseback were pouring into the village with their weapons drawn, mowing down anyone they encountered. The screams began, echoing to them, tearing into them.

Summer Rain took a step toward the chaos below as she screamed her mother's name. Little Bear dropped the pot to the hard ground. He ignored the shards of clay that pelted the back of his legs and ripped small, jagged holes into his skin.

"No, Summer Rain." He grabbed her and pulled her back to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly to keep her from pushing away.

"My family!" she cried as tears streamed down her face. She jerked against him and pounded his chest with her fists. "Let me go."

"We will do them no good if we are dead!" He gripped her so tight that the skin on her arms went white around his fingers.

Little Bear glanced from the face of his beloved toward the village. Their shouts had drawn the attention of a small band of men wearing the ragged uniform of Confederate cavalry. The horses were plowing up the hill in their direction.

"Hide!" he hissed as he pushed Summer Rain toward the tall grass. They could make a run for it if they stayed low and used the grass for cover.

Instead, she tripped over a rock and fell to her knees in the dirt. He leaned over and grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet.

"Little Bear!" she cried, but he heard the thundering hooves racing up behind them a half a second before she did and was already reaching for a weapon. He swooped to the ground and snatched up a rock that fit nicely in the palm on his hand. He spun in a circle, using his momentum to whip the rock through the air. It cracked into the skull of the soldier on the lead horse. He didn't stop to watch the man fall. He reached for Summer Rain and shoved her in front of him as they ran at top speed through the grass toward the treeline. It was their only chance at survival.

They reached the first group of trees just ahead of the horses. Summer Rain ducked behind a large pine as Little Bear ran toward a thick branch laying on the ground. His fingers closed around it and he started to swing it up and back when something bit into his side. With a howl, he fell to one knee. Spittle covered him as a horse blew past him and prepared to swing around. Its rider was looking back with vicious glee in his eyes and the sword in his hand was dripping with blood.

Little Bear pressed his free hand to his side. His fingers came away dark and sticky. Summer Rain was cowering beside him, her back to the tree and her terrified eyes locked on the soldier that advanced on them.

"Run," Little Bear commanded as he forced himself to his feet. The branch shook in his hand as he stepped out to put himself between his wife-to-be and the approaching killer.

"But Little Bear--"

"Go, please." His voice was calm and soft, but she did not argue. He heard her light footsteps disappear into the woods behind him, taking his heart with her.

The soldier approached on the horse. His sword bounced in his hand and flicked droplets of blood onto the grass beneath him. He spoke foreign words that Little Bear could not understand, but he didn't need to know what the man said. He knew they were a threat. Both his and Summer Rain's lives depended on this miniature battle.

The soldier grinned and smashed his spurs into the horse's flanks. The beast snorted as it launched itself forward. Little Bear swung, not at the soldier, but at the horse. The branch connected with the horse's front leg with a sickening crunch and the animal plunged nose-first into the dirt with an ear-shattering screech. The thick branch snapped with the impact, but Little Bear had expected it. He threw himself over the thrashing animal onto the soldier. The man was flailing on the ground with one leg pinned under the wounded beast. His screams were cut short as the sharpened branch punched through his throat and burrowed into the ground beneath.

Little Bear pushed himself to his feet. He leaned his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. A glint of metal just underneath the horse caught his eye. It was the soldier's sword. When the beast once again tried fruitlessly to rise, Little Bear darted in and grabbed the weapon before he could be crushed. He ran into the woods as the screams of the horse continued behind him. He kept his eyes on the ground as he moved among the trees. Summer Rain's footprints were barely visible but, like all the men in his tribe, he was trained to hunt. She ran an erratic path, darting around and between trees, heading back toward the village. He silently cursed her thoughtlessness. She should have run to the river, to safety, not back to find a family that was already lost.

The tree line loomed ahead. Deerskin and black braids cowered between two trees, surrounded by a handful of mounted men. As his heart sank into the pit of his stomach, Little Bear's hunter instincts kicked in. He moved quickly and quietly toward the love of his life. The handle of the sword was heavy in his sweaty palm and he gripped it so tight that his fingers turned white.

He circled around a copse of thin trees as he edged toward the small gathering. Voices echoed toward him, but he was not close enough to understand any of them. One of the men dismounted, swaggering as he sheathed his pistol. He wasn't one of the soldiers. His white shirt was dirty and stained, and he looked like he hadn't washed in weeks. He spoke to Summer Rain with a cruel sneer on his lips. She backed away until a large tree stopped her retreat. She was hemmed in; there was no escape.

Little Bear was close enough now that her fear was overpowering. The horses danced and snorted and he knew they could smell it, too. He was within reach of the nearest horse, but his attention remained on the dismounted man. With a swift flick of his arm, he sent the sword flying. It tumbled through the air with little grace, but it hit its mark anyway. The man stopped in his tracks with an odd jerking motion. One hand came up, scrabbling at his back awkwardly as he twisted his body. His fingers closed around the hilt of the sword and pulled it from his body, but it was too late. Little Bear had buried it between his shoulder blades and pierced his lungs. Blood bubbled from his lips as he fell to the ground, the sword dropping uselessly beside him.

The rider nearest Little Bear, another of the former Confederate soldiers, spun his horse as he looked for his leader's attacker. Little Bear launched himself from his hiding spot and sailed through the air. He wrapped his arms around the man and dragged him to the ground. His fist burned with briefly pain as it connected with the soldier's nose, but adrenaline pumped through his veins and pushed away any thought but vengeance. His fist drew back and slammed down without his command, smashing again and again into the man's already pulped face.

"Little Bear!"

His head jerked toward the sound. Summer Rain was being dragged toward a horse by one man as another rode toward him with his pistol drawn. The weapon was between him and Summer Rain. Little Bear's legs carried him toward his love, the gun, and certain death. The man raised the weapon and pulled back the hammer, ready to bring an end to Little Bear. Time slowed as Little Bear ran past the horse. The gun fired, the man's arm jerked, smoke left the barrel. Little Bear waited for the bullet to pierce him, for the inevitable pain, but it did not come. He pulled up short as the man on the horse tumbled to the ground with an arrow buried in his back.

Little Bear grabbed a knife from the man's belt and raced toward Summer Rain. She was screaming and struggling against her captor. When the man saw Little Bear, he pulled his own knife and settled it against Summer Rain's throat. He spoke to Little Bear, wiggling the blade a little to send rivulets of blood coursing down Summer Rain's throat.

Little Bear knew what he wanted. He wanted the young man to stop advancing, to let him take Summer Rain as his slave, or worse. Little Bear would rather see her die. He kept moving and the man began shouting. The man raised the knife, ready to stab Summer Rain and end her life. Her eyes met Little Bear's. She would die with honor. She would not be a slave or a whore. She would end it herself before that happened. She moved toward the blade, ready to impale herself, but it tumbled from the man's hand. He blinked repeatedly, his arms dropping to his sides. His mouth worked ceaselessly, unable to form any words as he sank to his knees. Several seconds passed in surreal silence until he tumbled to the side and lay still.

"Come, quickly." An older warrior that Little Bear recognized only by reputation was on a painted steed, a nocked bow in his hands. Little Bear grabbed Summer Rain and ran toward the nearest horse. He leapt on and pulled her up behind him. As they followed the warrior away from the village, she wrapped her arms around his waist and cried silent tears onto his back.

Charity Thomas glanced at the clock ticking on the wall as she shoved the needle through the thin fabric she held in her hands. "Ouch!"

"Charity?" Her mother looked up from the dress she was adorning with tiny, glittering white beads. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." Charity grumbled as she sucked on her throbbing thumb and set the unfinished dress on the table. "I have to go. We're picking out flowers today."

Her mother looked at her with tired eyes. "Do you have to? The Engels need these by the end of the week. Please, Charity." Charity's father had died years before when a train car derailed while he was on a business trip. The poor woman had been struggling to raise her children on a seamstress's wage ever since. It made Charity sick. After her father's death, they were put out of their house and had to live on the streets for some time. It was a dark, cold night when Charity decided she would never end up in her mother's shoes. She worked hard alongside her mother to put food on the table and keep her and her sister from starving, but her dreams were bigger than that. She wanted to do more than just survive. She wanted to thrive. Her dreams were starting to fade, though, with every setback and struggle. Then she met David.

"I can't, I'm sorry. His mother is expecting me and she isn't kind when I'm late. I have to go." Charity gave her mother a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek. Guilt threatened to bubble up in her gut, but she pushed it down. She would soon be moving out of the small shop/apartment and into high society. And then her mother wouldn't have to worry so much about making ends meet.

Charity stepped out the door and bounced along the sidewalk, flouncing her skirts as she walked. They weren't fancy, but they weren't the worst she'd seen, and she made them herself. That was more than most women could say. She was still certain that David's mother would look at her clothing with contempt, as she always did. But soon, very soon, Charity would be married into that family and be able to afford dresses that she had only dreamed of.

She rounded the corner onto Sixth Street. The shopping district was her favorite place in the whole world. When she was younger, she would spend hours on end strolling along the sidewalks, staring at all of the beautiful clothes displayed in the windows, dreaming of how they would look on her as she spun in the mirror. And then her dreams came true. The greatest day of her life was when David surprised her with a shopping spree in R.H. Macy & Co. She had felt like a princess then. And now she was going to look like one, too.

Charity smiled at the harried pedestrians as they passed her on the sidewalk. They returned her smile with frowns of annoyance. But some day soon, they would no longer look at her like she was a waif. They would see her and immediately know she was Charity Banks, daughter-in-law to one of the richest men in New York City. She would walk into a store and the employees would flock to her. The manager would fawn about her, treating her like she was royalty.

She was so caught up in her daydreams that she almost walked right past the little boutique tucked away between two larger buildings. It was an exclusive shop with no sign out front to mark its existence. Only the best of the best were admitted. David's mother knew the owner, of course, and a little over two months ago, Charity had first set foot into a shop that far exceeded anything her mother had ever known. The girl's nerves had been tied into such tight knots that she almost vomited on the seamstress who was taking her measurements. But this time, she walked up to the door and pulled the string for the bell firmly, determined to hold onto her confidence. A pleasant tinkle echoed through the wood seconds before a narrow rectangular window opened beside the door.

"Yes?" Shadowed eyes peered at her with suspicion through the small gap.

"Hello. I'm Charity Banks. I'm here to try on my dress for my wedding."

The eyes disappeared and papers shuffled inside for several minutes before the face returned. "You mean Charity Thomas?" The voice was snotty and knowing, emphasizing her last name with thinly veiled disgust.

Charity clenched her teeth and bit back her own snide comment. "It will be Banks soon enough. My mother-in-law is already inside. Let me in." She paused for a moment, then added, "Please."

Another long moment of silence stretched out, but she eventually heard the click of the lock. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. She took a deep breath to still her growing agitation and stepped into the shadowy interior. The attendant just inside the door smirked at her before showing her to the main room.

It was stifling inside, no cooler than the sweltering heat out on the sidewalk, but fresh bouquets of flowers lined the walls and gave the little sitting room a pleasant floral aroma. It was a nice change from the smell of sewage and horse dung that was the typical odor of the city.

David's mother, Catherine, relaxed on a velvet chaise in the middle of the room. She held a glass that was half full of wine in one hand and waved an intricately painted fan in the other. "Charity, darling, you've finally arrived. We've been waiting," she oozed in that voice that Charity could barely tolerate. "Please, take a seat."

Opposite the chaise was a matching loveseat. Catherine's daughter, Melody, stretched across it like a pin-up model posing for her first shot. She also had a glass of wine in her hand, but it was empty save a few drops in the bottom. An overstuffed leather chair rounded out the trio of seats arranged in the middle of the room. It was occupied by Rebecca, the heavily pregnant wife of David's older brother, Marcus.

Charity glanced around. Four small kitchen chairs were arranged along one wall. Three of them were occupied by the attendants of the three ladies lounging around. The only remaining seat was with them. Charity forced a smile and bowed her head toward Catherine slightly.

"Thank you, but I will stand for now. I must keep my figure for the wedding, you know." The comment was meant to garner a laugh, as Charity was already too thin from lack of proper nutrition, but the only positive reaction she received was a small titter from Rebecca's attendant, Sarah.

Catherine's smile flickered and a dangerous light entered her eyes. It was gone in an instant, but Charity had not missed it. "Of course, my dear," Catherine said as mock concern bled into her voice. "It must be difficult to do so, being stuck in front of a sewing machine all day. How tedious."

Charity barely stopped herself from growling out loud at the woman who had treated her like dirt since they first met. Her future mother-in-law didn't need to know that, until David came along, her family never had enough to eat. She didn't need to know that her mother barely made rent every week. Charity narrowed her eyes at the spiteful, arrogant woman and almost laughed. Knowing Catherine, she already knew all that anyway. She was the queen of gossip. As much as Charity despised her and as many times as she wanted to smack her, she almost envied the social queen.

Charity's forced smile grew bigger and became real. Oh no, she didn't envy her. One day, Charity vowed, she would show Catherine Banks what it really meant to be high society. Charity would treat the people she met with respect and they would all love her. Everyone would look to her, Charity Banks, for advice on the best places to eat, the most reliable help, what dresses were in fashion. No, Catherine could have her moment now. Charity would wait patiently. She just needed that ring on her finger and then she could change things. She could show the world what Catherine was really like and prove that she wasn't just David's latest mistake.

A door behind the chaise opened and the owner of the boutique entered the room. She wore a simple pantsuit and had her black hair pulled up into a severe bun. She knelt beside David's mother and kissed her on both cheeks. "Catherine, my darling, so good to see you. How are you feeling? Is this heat getting to you?" Her accent was thick and very French.

"No, no, not at all," Catherine responded.

Charity knew the woman was lying. David had little sense for when to keep a secret and he had already told her that the heat always did a number on his mother. She would lay in bed with servants waving large fans over her, complaining about the horrible stickiness of the city and begging her husband to move them to the country. But whenever he suggested they visit their manor in upstate New York, she would come up with some excuse to not leave the city. Whether the woman was afraid of travel or just didn't want to be out of the spotlight, Charity did not know.

The French woman, Victoire, greeted the other women in turn before finally focusing on Charity. "Ah, the future Mrs. Banks." She beamed at the young woman in front of her and clasped Charity's shoulders in her hands. "Come, my darling, see what I have come up with for you."

Charity followed her from the room, thankful when the door closed on the watchful hawks behind her. They entered a large room that Charity had never been in before. It was filled with some of the most magnificent dresses she had ever seen in varying stages of completion. The skill and costly materials were far beyond anything her mother had ever handled.

Victoire walked up to a row of lilac dresses that would have been pretty if not for the color. "These," she said as she waved her hand over one, "are for your bridesmaids. What do you think?"

Charity forced herself to smile. "They're lovely. But I thought we discussed using black. Who ordered them?"

The woman cocked her head to the side. "Why, Catherine, of course. She said your colors were lilac and violet."

Charity couldn't hold back her snorting laugh.

Victoire sighed and gave Charity a knowing look. "Those aren't your colors, are they?"

"No. I made the mistake of telling her purple was my least favorite color."

"Typical Catherine. She did the same to Rebecca, you know." The seamstress plucked at a dress. "Oh dear. With the wedding so close, I'm not sure I can redo them in this style."

Charity thought about the work the woman would have to do to remake all the dresses in time. Her own mother was scrambling to finish the gowns for an entire wedding party even as they spoke. "No, don't worry about it. It's all right. I don't want you to do have to do more work than necessary. It's not important." Charity gave her a winning smile.

Victoire returned it two-fold. "Thank you, dear. I really am very sorry. Now let's take a look at your dress." She ducked between two of the bridesmaids dresses. On the other side, Charity found the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. It truly was made for a princess. Tiny diamonds were stitched into the bodice and lace adorned the neckline. The train wrapped around the base of the stand and glittered with matching jewels scattered along its length.

Charity was in heaven. She walked around the dress, brushing her fingers lightly against the smooth fabric. "It's so beautiful," she cooed as tears welled up in her eyes.

Victoire beamed. "I am so glad you approve, my darling. I hope it makes up for the bridesmaids dresses."

The young woman nodded emphatically. "Oh, absolutely. It's more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Victoire grinned and clapped her hands. "Fabuleux. Let us get you into it so we can make the final adjustments."

When all the adjustments were noted, Victoire herded Charity back out into the main room, still wearing the wedding gown. As the young woman waltzed through the door, all heads turned in her direction. The two younger ladies rose, proclaiming their love for the dress in happy squeals. Catherine, however, remained seated. Her lips held an icy smile, but she sent a stinging glare in Victoire's direction. Her eyes held clear disappointment. Victoire intentionally avoided her the entire time Charity was showing off the dress.

When they were done and Charity had changed back into her boring, common outfit, Catherine finally rose from the chaise. "Rebecca, Melody, why don't you ladies take Charity to the flower boutique? I will be along briefly. I just need to speak with Victoire for a moment."

As they left, Charity shot Victoire a glance. The woman smiled at her and nodded. She knew what was coming and she was ready for it. Charity returned the smile warmly, a silent thank you to the woman who had wanted her to be happy in spite of the inevitable blow-back.

She followed the other ladies down the streets until they found the flower shop that would be supplying the flowers for the wedding. Charity let the others pick the arrangements, having already lost her choice in colors anyway. She had her dress. That was all she needed. She would sleep well that night.