Wanted: Dead or Undead (Zombie West) Read Online Free PDF Page B

only turned to animals when their appetites left them no
other option. By saving herself, Red would ultimately save her horse.
    A decrepit, rotting corpse dragged itself into her line of
sight. She took stock: right arm missing, left ankle broken with bones
protruding from the skin, eyes cloudy, and facial and rib bones quite visible.
She couldn't tell its gender, but it appeared to have gone without sustenance
for quite some time. More than likely, it had laid itself out on the plains and
withered away while waiting for some unlucky soul to wander by. Unfortunately
for the zombie, Red wasn't unlucky.
    She raised her gun and put one bullet through the forehead,
another through the neck. She liked it that way: the first shot for the kill,
the second for certainty. Quick and easy. The zombie crumpled into a heap and
lay there unmoving while she continued to listen. Silence, except for nature's
peaceful sounds. Still, Red waited a few seconds more before lowering her guns
and putting them in her holsters.
    She gathered her items, repacked everything, and retied
Classy to a tree a little farther from the camp. She slipped some nice, good
quality gloves on. They were three weeks old—three weeks! A new record. She
sighed as she moved her fingers around inside the firm leather, and even raised
the gloves to her nose. They still smelled new. Well, she knew how she'd use
part of her new-found wealth. This would make pair number seventy-six.
    Red had disposed of dead zombies often enough to know that
putting it off only made matters worse. She grabbed the corpse by the
feet—broken ankle and all—and dragged it to the fire pit. Zombies, especially
the more decayed ones, weighed little more than a child. Most of the time, she
could manage on her own.
    She'd once gunned down a recently turned, overweight zombie
priest. His weight had played to her disadvantage; one look and she knew the
zombie wasn't going anywhere. Instead, she built a fire around him in the
middle of Main Street. She didn't like to make a show of it—tried to give the
zombies a little respect in their official deaths—but the fat priest had given her
no choice. The townsfolk watched the grizzly cremation as if it were some
circus show, but Red refused to take part in that kind of gawking. She'd
mounted her horse and left the townsfolk to clean up the remains.
    This zombie, however, had very little muscle mass, and Red
easily maneuvered the body into position next to the fire. She gathered more
brush and branches to bring the fire to a nice roar, rolled the dead zombie on
top of it, and watched until the body blazed.
    "Rest in peace." She sighed. If she were ever
turned, she hoped someone would have the decency to do the same for her.
    ***
    Trace kept a safe distance and followed Red along a parallel
path, just north of her own. He lost sight of her a few times and it made him
nervous, but it couldn't be helped. As they progressed, trees occasionally
obscured his view, or mighty river crossings demanded all his attention, but
once she returned to his line of vision, he settled into a comfortable rhythm.
    When she set up camp for the night, he did the same about a
mile away. He wanted to build a fire—the chill air cut deep—but she'd likely spot
it, and would probably kill him before he could reveal his identity. He spread
his bedroll under a couple of scrawny trees for cover, and kept his lantern
burning low.
    The sound of gunfire echoed over the distance, one right
after another, and he scrambled to his feet with a pistol clutched in his hand.
He ran toward her, jumping over sage brush and rocks while the moonlight illuminated
his way. The gunshots had most likely been fired by her, but he prepared
himself for anything.
    Not even halfway to her camp, the rot attacked his nostrils.
As she bent over and dragged the dead zombie toward her fire, Trace pulled
back, slowed his gait, and spun his head around to check for any sign of
additional walkers in the area.