Read Online Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western by Samantha Warren - Free Book Online
Authors: Samantha Warren
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stared at her, as if he were trying to form words that would not come. A strange gurgling groan rumbled up from his throat and his tongue lolled out to lick the black goo on his lips. He blinked at her, in slow motion. She didn't even have time to scream as he lunged for her throat.
Chapter 9
Charity's entire body ached. She opened her eyes and blinked into the sunlight that was streaming through the window. It hurt. A lot. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the painful rays. "Ugh." She grimaced. Even her throat hurt. It ached as if she'd been screaming for hours on end with no respite and a deep pain throbbed near her shoulder.
She groaned and pressed the back of her free hand to her cheek. What was she doing last night? She thought back to the weird nightmares that had haunted her sleep. She laughed at her silliness. She was mad at David, and for what? Because of a stupid dream? He would never really bite her, would he? Of course not.
Her hand trailed down her face to find her throat. Tiny shocks of pain radiated out from the deep, ragged holes her fingers found there. Her hand dropped and she sat up straight, the pain in her head all but forgotten.
She was still in her bedroom, alone. The candle that had been burning on the dresser had melted into a hard pool of wax. Dark, shiny spots marred the normally spotless floor. Her nostrils flared as a coppery scent assaulted her. Her stomach rumbled at the same time.
With great effort, she moved to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor. It took two tries, but she finally pushed herself to her feet. She was unsteady and wobbled for a moment before regaining her balance. It felt like years since she had used her legs. She was weak, like a toddler just learning to walk. With a flash of annoyance, she took a tentative step forward. Her bare toes landed in one of the dark pools on the floor. She moved them experimentally. It was sticky and thick.
"Disgusting," she whispered as her stomach rumbled once more.
She stopped and stared at her naked foot. Since moving out west, her skin had darkened considerably to an unpleasant tan color that she grew to loathe. But her foot wasn't that dark tan. It was sickly gray in the morning light. She raised her hand. It had the same pale gray hue, too. Charity walked across the room to the mirror. Her scream lodged in her throat. Her hair was a matted mess and her face and upper body were covered in drying blood. A chunk of flesh was missing from her neck and every piece of visible skin was a shade of gray that she had only seen on her dead grandmother. Even her eyes were missing their usual blue sparkle.
She gripped the dresser and gasped for air. She felt sick, and hungry. Her eyes roved around the room and landed on the open doorway. Only then did she notice the bloody footprints retreating out into the hallway. The boot prints matched David's. Fear hovered in her stomach as faint voices echoed up to her from below. She cupped her hands over her mouth and thought frantically.
"What is going on?" she whispered to herself. "This is crazy." She looked in the mirror again and ran a hand through her tangled hair. She stared at herself for several seconds. Then she straightened her shoulders. "Stop this," she said. "You're a grown woman. Act like it."
She picked up the pitcher on the stand under the mirror and poured some water into the basin. With a cloth she pulled from the drawer, she washed herself up as best she could in the small space, then she straightened her hair and put on a clean dress. When she was finished, she looked in the mirror again.
She still felt like walking death and didn't look much better. Her fingers poked at her cheeks as she stared at her horrific visage. Was it the plague? She didn't feel sick. She felt hungry, voraciously hungry. She wanted to vomit, but it was more from looking at herself than from actually feeling sick. With an annoyed sigh, she pulled at the high collar on the
Chapter 9
Charity's entire body ached. She opened her eyes and blinked into the sunlight that was streaming through the window. It hurt. A lot. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the painful rays. "Ugh." She grimaced. Even her throat hurt. It ached as if she'd been screaming for hours on end with no respite and a deep pain throbbed near her shoulder.
She groaned and pressed the back of her free hand to her cheek. What was she doing last night? She thought back to the weird nightmares that had haunted her sleep. She laughed at her silliness. She was mad at David, and for what? Because of a stupid dream? He would never really bite her, would he? Of course not.
Her hand trailed down her face to find her throat. Tiny shocks of pain radiated out from the deep, ragged holes her fingers found there. Her hand dropped and she sat up straight, the pain in her head all but forgotten.
She was still in her bedroom, alone. The candle that had been burning on the dresser had melted into a hard pool of wax. Dark, shiny spots marred the normally spotless floor. Her nostrils flared as a coppery scent assaulted her. Her stomach rumbled at the same time.
With great effort, she moved to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor. It took two tries, but she finally pushed herself to her feet. She was unsteady and wobbled for a moment before regaining her balance. It felt like years since she had used her legs. She was weak, like a toddler just learning to walk. With a flash of annoyance, she took a tentative step forward. Her bare toes landed in one of the dark pools on the floor. She moved them experimentally. It was sticky and thick.
"Disgusting," she whispered as her stomach rumbled once more.
She stopped and stared at her naked foot. Since moving out west, her skin had darkened considerably to an unpleasant tan color that she grew to loathe. But her foot wasn't that dark tan. It was sickly gray in the morning light. She raised her hand. It had the same pale gray hue, too. Charity walked across the room to the mirror. Her scream lodged in her throat. Her hair was a matted mess and her face and upper body were covered in drying blood. A chunk of flesh was missing from her neck and every piece of visible skin was a shade of gray that she had only seen on her dead grandmother. Even her eyes were missing their usual blue sparkle.
She gripped the dresser and gasped for air. She felt sick, and hungry. Her eyes roved around the room and landed on the open doorway. Only then did she notice the bloody footprints retreating out into the hallway. The boot prints matched David's. Fear hovered in her stomach as faint voices echoed up to her from below. She cupped her hands over her mouth and thought frantically.
"What is going on?" she whispered to herself. "This is crazy." She looked in the mirror again and ran a hand through her tangled hair. She stared at herself for several seconds. Then she straightened her shoulders. "Stop this," she said. "You're a grown woman. Act like it."
She picked up the pitcher on the stand under the mirror and poured some water into the basin. With a cloth she pulled from the drawer, she washed herself up as best she could in the small space, then she straightened her hair and put on a clean dress. When she was finished, she looked in the mirror again.
She still felt like walking death and didn't look much better. Her fingers poked at her cheeks as she stared at her horrific visage. Was it the plague? She didn't feel sick. She felt hungry, voraciously hungry. She wanted to vomit, but it was more from looking at herself than from actually feeling sick. With an annoyed sigh, she pulled at the high collar on the
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