Read Online Massacre at Lonesome Ridge: A Zombie Western by Samantha Warren - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Samantha Warren
Ads: Link
dress. It covered most of the wound on her neck, which was at least something. She prodded the holes again. The pain there had disappeared. She shrugged her shoulders and wiggled her hips. All traces of pain were gone. She had woken up stiff and horribly sore, but nothing hurt anymore. Even more confused than before, she stared at the holes.
"It wasn't David," she whispered at herself in the mirror. Her image was as unconvinced as she was. Charity bit her lip. "Am I dreaming?" She bit her lip again, harder. Her teeth pierced the skin, bit all the way through, but that was it. She pulled her lip out and looked at it in the mirror. There was definitely a hole, but something was missing. She had bitten her lip before, many times. It always bled. She could imagine the coppery tang on her tongue even now. The thought of blood in her mouth made her hungrier.
"Ugh, gross." She shook her head and gave herself a scalding look before deciding she needed to go downstairs and find out what was going on.
Charity tiptoed around the blood on the floor and pulled the door open again. The voices were gone and it was all quiet downstairs. She had been in the house for six months, long enough to know where all the squeaky boards were. She made it to the bottom of the stairs without making a sound.
"Come in."
Charity froze with her foot hanging off the last step. She leaned over and looked into the sitting room. Someone with long black hair occupied David's chair. It faced the fireplace, away from the door. On the floor beside the chair sat a man. He was dressed in a ragged Confederate uniform that had dark brown stains on the sleeves and pant legs. He stared at her with dull eyes. His skin was gray, like hers.
"Come." The voice came from the man in the chair. It was thick with an accent Charity could not place.
She stepped down onto the floor. "Where's David?" She kept her hand on the banister and balanced on her toes, ready to bolt back up the stairs.
"Here," said the hidden speaker.
Charity heard a light scuffing sound before David's head appeared from in front of the chair. He looked terrible, much like she did before she cleaned up. Gray skin, lifeless eyes. He stared at her with his mouth hanging half open, like her grandfather after his stroke when she was just a child.
"Sit." David flopped out of sight.
Charity narrowed her eyes. She didn't like the idea of someone else treating her husband like a dog. Sure, he hadn't been kind to her lately, but he was still her husband. She stomped across the floor to the chair, a scathing retort on her lips. It died before it left her mouth.
Sitting in the chair was a young man. His long black hair flowed around his shoulders, but chunks were missing from the sides and back. His skin was a grayish brown. Wounds covered his body, but they did not bleed.
He turned his head to look at her. Where his eyes used to be were gaping red holes. His face was cracked like the ground in the middle of summer.
He spoke in slow, labored English. His voice was hoarse and low. “Hello, child. Welcome to a new world.”
Charity stared at the man in the chair, shocked into silence.
The man in the chair spoke again. "My name is Little Bear. You are Charity?"
Charity nodded. "Wh..." She stopped herself and glanced around the room. It was just the three of them. Outside the window, the world was still. She couldn't even hear the usual snorting of the horses and cattle. "What are you?"
Little Bear smiled. His teeth were stained a dark brown. "Death," he said.
Charity cut a look at David. He sat on the floor in front of the empty fireplace staring out into nothing. From this angle she could see his blond hair was matted in the back with dried blood. The lower part of his shirt was torn and stained.
"What do you mean?" Charity kept David in her peripheral vision and looked back at Little Bear.
The smile had not left his face. He spoke again. "In due time. You must be starving." He raised a hand and waved
"It wasn't David," she whispered at herself in the mirror. Her image was as unconvinced as she was. Charity bit her lip. "Am I dreaming?" She bit her lip again, harder. Her teeth pierced the skin, bit all the way through, but that was it. She pulled her lip out and looked at it in the mirror. There was definitely a hole, but something was missing. She had bitten her lip before, many times. It always bled. She could imagine the coppery tang on her tongue even now. The thought of blood in her mouth made her hungrier.
"Ugh, gross." She shook her head and gave herself a scalding look before deciding she needed to go downstairs and find out what was going on.
Charity tiptoed around the blood on the floor and pulled the door open again. The voices were gone and it was all quiet downstairs. She had been in the house for six months, long enough to know where all the squeaky boards were. She made it to the bottom of the stairs without making a sound.
"Come in."
Charity froze with her foot hanging off the last step. She leaned over and looked into the sitting room. Someone with long black hair occupied David's chair. It faced the fireplace, away from the door. On the floor beside the chair sat a man. He was dressed in a ragged Confederate uniform that had dark brown stains on the sleeves and pant legs. He stared at her with dull eyes. His skin was gray, like hers.
"Come." The voice came from the man in the chair. It was thick with an accent Charity could not place.
She stepped down onto the floor. "Where's David?" She kept her hand on the banister and balanced on her toes, ready to bolt back up the stairs.
"Here," said the hidden speaker.
Charity heard a light scuffing sound before David's head appeared from in front of the chair. He looked terrible, much like she did before she cleaned up. Gray skin, lifeless eyes. He stared at her with his mouth hanging half open, like her grandfather after his stroke when she was just a child.
"Sit." David flopped out of sight.
Charity narrowed her eyes. She didn't like the idea of someone else treating her husband like a dog. Sure, he hadn't been kind to her lately, but he was still her husband. She stomped across the floor to the chair, a scathing retort on her lips. It died before it left her mouth.
Sitting in the chair was a young man. His long black hair flowed around his shoulders, but chunks were missing from the sides and back. His skin was a grayish brown. Wounds covered his body, but they did not bleed.
He turned his head to look at her. Where his eyes used to be were gaping red holes. His face was cracked like the ground in the middle of summer.
He spoke in slow, labored English. His voice was hoarse and low. “Hello, child. Welcome to a new world.”
Charity stared at the man in the chair, shocked into silence.
The man in the chair spoke again. "My name is Little Bear. You are Charity?"
Charity nodded. "Wh..." She stopped herself and glanced around the room. It was just the three of them. Outside the window, the world was still. She couldn't even hear the usual snorting of the horses and cattle. "What are you?"
Little Bear smiled. His teeth were stained a dark brown. "Death," he said.
Charity cut a look at David. He sat on the floor in front of the empty fireplace staring out into nothing. From this angle she could see his blond hair was matted in the back with dried blood. The lower part of his shirt was torn and stained.
"What do you mean?" Charity kept David in her peripheral vision and looked back at Little Bear.
The smile had not left his face. He spoke again. "In due time. You must be starving." He raised a hand and waved
Similar Books
