Ashes of the Dead - Bucket of Blood Page 11

  “Personally, I ain’t one for taking chances, doc,” Cutler responded.

  “It’s our only choice,” the Gunman added. “What other option do we have?”

  “We could split up. Each take a different tunnel,” Pickett suggested. “Might have a better chance that way.”

  “No way. We stick together,” Cutler argued.

  “I agree,” the Gunman said. “We need to follow this tunnel and see where it takes us. Might lead us straight into a dead end, but we need to stick together.”

  “Alright. Sounds good to me,” Pickett said. “Lead the way, partner.”

  For over an hour they passed through the tunnel. The ground sloped steadily upward and the Gunman thought he could feel a slight breeze on his face. The kerosene in the lantern had finally run out and he set it down on the dirt floor. It was no use to him any more, and if anything, it was unnecessary weight. They kept moving up the mineshaft, but the tunnel wasn’t as dark as it had been before. A pale yellow light seemed to take shape before them as they moved ahead. For a while the Gunman thought he was only imagining the light, but it seemed to grow brighter with every step. They finally turned a corner and saw bright sunlight filtering from a distant end of the tunnel, like the finger of god reaching down to guide their way out of the darkness.

  “Finally,” Andrew said, a smile crossing his face.

  They picked up the pace when they knew the end was near.

  “Let's get the hell out of here,” Cutler said as he jogged ahead. “I’m sick of this god damn tunnel.”

  They exited the mineshaft, overlooking a deep ravine with a dry riverbed at the bottom.

  “Fuck, man. Where are we?” Cutler asked.

  They stood at the entrance and considered their options. The bright sun continued its morning climb, set against the vivid blue backdrop. It was still early morning, but the heat was already starting to take hold of the dry land. Pickett ripped off the bottom of his shirt and tied it around his forearm, using it to bandage a gaping wound that he hadn’t noticed in the darkness.

  “They won't last too long on their own,” the Gunman said as he turned to Pickett. “What's the fastest way back to town?

  Pickett pointed far into the distance toward the horizon. “Take the river bed. Over that far hill, but--,” he said.

  “But what?” Andrew asked.

  “There's a deep ravine on the other side of that hill. We'll have to take the long way round'…through Indian country.”

  “How long will that take?” the Gunman asked.

  “Half a day, maybe more. And it’s going to get hot today.”

  “Maybe they can help us,” Andrew suggested.

  “Who?”

  “The Washoe. What if we ask for their help?”

  “Couldn't hurt,” the Gunman added.

  “We aren't exactly on speakin' terms with them,” Pickett pointed out. “Not after the mining company pushed em' off their land.”

  “We have no choice,” the Gunman told him.

  Pickett nodded in agreement, but still feared what would happen to them when they crossed the Washoe border. They were fierce warriors and had earned a brutal reputation. The Gunman and the others started to make their way down the steep hillside, weaving around shrubs and rocks, headed toward the riverbed. The sun was already beating down on them and there was no sign of water anywhere. It was going to be another long day.

  • • •

  Rose walked slowly down the tunnel, holding a broken unlit lantern in one hand and Caleb's hand in the other. The remaining survivors followed closely behind. The tunnel was pitch-black except for a makeshift torch that Eric had managed to assemble out of a piece of splintered wood and the lower part of his shirt. He had dipped the end of the torch in the remnants of kerosene from Rose’s broken lantern, which produced a brighter flame, but burned through his shirt much quicker than he expected. He continued to wrap pieces of cloth around the end, trying to extend the torch’s life, but knew that it wouldn’t last much longer.

  Only the shuffling of their feet was heard on the hard-packed dirt floor, as they kept moving through the dark tunnel. Several people had been killed when the mineshaft collapsed, crushed to death under tons of rock and fallen beams. Nobody was ready to talk about the ones they had lost. Not now. Not in the darkness.

  “How much farther?” Caleb asked, his head hung low from walking all night through the tunnel.

  “Not far dear.”

  They turned a corner and Rose paused, gazing through the blackness, checking for any signs of undead in their path. She had no idea where they were, but could only hope that they were headed in the right direction.

  “My feet hurt,” Caleb said.

  “I know, honey. So do mine.”

  There were no signs of danger in front of them so she started to walk again.

  “Don't worry,” Emmett told him. “We're almost there, son.”

  Caleb gripped Rose’s hand tighter, holding her even closer than before. The darkness scared him, as it would any boy his age. But even worse, he knew what could be lurking around the next corner. The undead. The danger that nobody had seen coming. The thing that had overwhelmed and killed so many people. He began to cry silently in the darkness, wiping tears from his cheek with a dirty finger.

  Eric came up behind them. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, stained with blood. He had a throbbing headache from getting knocked in the forehead from a falling beam, but it was slowly passing. They walked together for a few minutes in silence.

  “How's your head?” Rose asked.

  “Better--, I guess. Still hurts though.” He adjusted the bandage and checked the wound to see if it was still bleeding. “Might have a good scar when this is over, though.”

  Caleb stopped in the middle of the tunnel. He was completely exhausted.

  “What's wrong?” Rose asked him.

  “I can't walk no farther,” he told her.

  “Come on. Let's go,” she said, trying to pull him forward. But he wouldn’t budge.

  “I can't. My feet hurt too much,” he said. “And I’m tired. Can’t we stop?”

  Eric stepped up beside him. “Alright bud.” He hoisted Caleb up like a sack of potatoes and started walking down the tunnel. And the young boy, at least for a moment, forgot about the undead and the danger that surrounded him. He fell fast asleep and dreamed peacefully as the others pushed forward. Rose turned around another corner, feeling that she was headed in the right direction, but she wasn’t for certain. Eric’s torch had finally run out of fuel and he threw it into the dirt, but just ahead around the next corner, a shaft of pale light poured into the mineshaft from the roof above.

  “Finally,” Rose said.

  Eric handed Caleb to Rose, and then started to climb back into the church. He reached back down and lifted Caleb out of Rose’s arms, and then helped her up.

  Rose grabbed Caleb's hand and led him toward a pew in the corner. “Okay bud. We have to stay quiet for a while. I'll be right back.” Caleb placed his head into his folded hands and fell back asleep on the hard wooden pew. Rose, now crouching low to the ground, moved toward a nearby window. She could see a few undead wandering in the distance and watched them as they continued to drift down the street, listlessly searching for more food.

  Eric continued to lift people out of the mineshaft and everyone was soon back inside the church, right where they had started. Nobody knew how safe they would be there, especially without cover of darkness to hide them from the undead. Floating bits of dust danced in bright pillars of morning light that fell through the windows. Rose felt uneasy about being back inside the church. The darkness of the tunnels had made her feel safer in a way, more protected. Now she felt exposed and vulnerable, with no place to hide from evil.

  Beth, a middle-aged woman in a torn dress, sat down on the floor with her two children on either side. She looked utterly destroyed and broken. Her husband had been crushed to death in the mineshaft and the rest of her fa
mily had been eaten by the undead. She had entered a state of shock during their journey through the tunnels, but reality was setting in, and she didn’t know how to deal with any of the terrible things that had happened to her.

  “Are we just going to wait here?” she asked, agitated and depressed.

  “Yes, that's exactly what we're going to do,” Rose responded, still looking out of the window.

  “But what if they don't come back? What if they just leave us here? What are we going to do?” She cried.

  “They won't just leave us here.”

  “How can you say that?” Beth started to become anxious, her emotions pouring out, overwhelming her. Her hands were shaking as she held her children closer. “How do you know?”

  An old man named Sig was sitting in the corner, covered head to toe in dirt with his face bloodied. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage from several broken fingers. “Now, listen here, we just…we just have to stay calm,” he said, holding his wrinkled hand in the air like a preacher.

  “He’s right. And please keep your voices down,” Rose added. “We need to remain hidden in here for as long as we can. I promise that they will return for us,” she said to her, forcing a smile. “I promise.”

  Beth pulled her children in even closer, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Rose walked over to another window where Eric was keeping watch. “What do we do if they don't make it back?” she asked, now concerned.

  Eric could only shrug at this question. “I don't know. Wait for night. Try to sneak out of town,” he suggested.

  “What about all those things outside?”

  “I don't know Rose. I really don’t know.” He sat down below the window and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and wanting to get at least a few minutes of rest.

  Rose walked over to Caleb and lay down behind him in the pew. She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him in tight, and then closed her eyes and fell fast asleep in the warm morning light.

  The Washoe

  The Gunman and the others walked along the riverbed, sweaty, dirty and exhausted. The burning midday sun beat down on them. They had no water. No food. It hadn’t been more than a few hours since they left the mine, but their situation was already becoming desperate. After following the dry riverbed for a few more miles they came across a thick patch of cactus growing along either side of them. Cutler dropped to his knees and pulled out a buck knife. He used the blade to puncture a hole into the side of the closest cactus, then twisted the blade and sawed it in half. He sheathed the blade and used his hand to scoop out the watery pulp from inside. With both hands, he compressed the pulp above his lips, releasing pure water into his mouth. The others followed his lead, each digging a hand into the cactus and drinking water from the sweet pulp inside. After a few minutes they moved to the next cactus and repeated this process, until all of them had drank their fill. The sun had already started its afternoon descent, and even though the heat was subsiding it was still cruelly oppressive.

  With their bellies full of cactus water they left the riverbed and headed into the open country, entering an expansive field strewn with boulders and half-dead Yucca, yellowed and burnt from the harsh conditions. They marched single file for several hours across the vast expanse and paused only briefly during their assault across the flat lands. The Gunman felt his feet grow heavy from exhaustion and had to work hard to lift them above dead tufts of grass that intermingled between the mounds of Yucca. He noticed that the others were trudging lethargically behind him, but he decided to push on, and forced himself to forget about the pain in his legs and the throbbing headache that was slowly bending across his forehead.

  After another hour of plodding across the open country the Gunman noticed the sun nearing the horizon out of the corner of his eye. He paused and stood there blocking the sun with his hand, looking to the far side of a sweeping field where a line of dead trees marked last year’s drought. “We'll have to make camp here for the night,” he said.

  “What about the others?” Andrew asked.

  “Too dangerous to go any farther. Especially at night.”

  “Besides that, the Washoe don't take too kindly to being surprised in the dark,” Cutler said as he sat on his haunches and picked a piece of cactus pulp from his teeth with the knife. “Not too kindly whatsoever,” he said to himself, and then spat in the dirt.

  “So--, we're just going to sleep out here? Out in the open?” Andrew questioned. He felt exposed and vulnerable out in the open, and the undead had a bad habit of surprising them when they least expected it.

  “I'll take first watch,” the Gunman told him. “We'll take it in shifts. Best not to start a fire.”

  Andrew stepped behind a boulder and sat down with his back resting firmly in a natural depression in its side. He was deadly tired, but knew that he wouldn’t sleep much that night. Not out in the open. Not with the undead stalking them in the darkness.

  • • •

  The Gunman sat against a tall boulder, his eyes piercing through the black night. A cool breeze blew out of the desert, and he knew that it would get cold that night. Cutler, Pickett, Pearce and Andrew lay hidden among the boulders behind him, sleeping soundly. Cutler snored a deep resonating tremor. It was the only thing the Gunman could hear in any direction.

  He removed his tobacco pouch and mechanically rolled a cigarette with the sad remnants that remained. He lit it with one of his last matches and kept the burning ember hidden behind his hand, trying to prevent even the smallest light from giving away their position. He continued to scan the horizon, with the full moon illuminating the entire area, making his job much easier than it would have been otherwise. He thought about Rose, and the way she had pulled herself in and cried against his chest. She was a tender creature and somebody that he found himself thinking of very deeply about. He started to envision the life that they would have together, daydreaming about building another home. Starting another life with a beautiful woman. But that dream was dashed when he heard a twig snap from across the field. The Gunman turned his ear toward the sound and heard indistinct footsteps in the distance, moving toward them. He quickly extinguished the cigarette into the palm of his hand and listened for a moment longer. The footsteps continued to draw closer. He crawled over and woke Cutler, and placed a finger over his lips.

  “Shhhh--, wake the others. We have company,” he told him.

  He returned to his lookout position and saw an entire group of wandering undead enter the field through the dead trees, bathed in moonlight. They slowly ambled across and headed straight for them. The undead hadn't noticed them yet, but they soon would and everybody was in danger.

  Cutler crawled up beside him, with his axe in hand. “What the fuck do we do now?”

  “Nothing. There's too many of them,” the Gunman responded, and then pulled out both revolvers. “Just in case,” he said, looking to Cutler.

  Pickett, Andrew and Pearce crawled up beside them, ready for anything. The undead continued across the field, their evil black eyes reflecting the moonlight as they searched for food in the darkness.

  “Let's make a run for it,” Andrew suggested.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Pickett demanded, and grabbed his shoulder, making sure he wouldn’t run off and give away their position.

  Everybody retreated on their hands and knees and crawled behind a few large boulders behind them. They remained motionless with their weapons ready. The undead drew closer, and closer, and finally passed among them, weaving between the boulders, an aimless journey of the walking dead.

  The Gunman silently cocked his revolvers, and Cutler readied his axe, palming the handle tightly. The undead continued passed them, never sensing the fresh meat. They left the field and disappeared into the darkness. Once they had gone out of earshot, Cutler peaked over the boulder and checked the surroundings, and then stood and dropped the axe to his side.

  “Shit--, that was close,” he said.

  The Gunman clicked t
he hammer down to safety his revolvers and holstered them.

  “Well--, I don't think I'll be sleeping the rest of the night,” Andrew said.

  “I suppose not. Think I might need a new pair a britches myself,” Pickett said.

  Cutler laughed and slapped Pickett’s back. “One more thing I can expect when I get as old as you.”

  Everybody laughed except the Gunman. The undead had passed, but the danger remained. He leaned back against a rock and once again resumed his vigilant night watch. His blue eyes pierced through the darkness, hoping that this was the last surprise they wound find in the wild.

  • • •

  The church was enveloped by the night and everybody was fast asleep. Everybody except Rose. She looked out of a window, keeping watch with the shotgun in her lap, one hand placed across the stock. The full moon had dipped below the horizon and the town had fallen dark and silent. She saw a few undead, slowly making their way down the street, but this time they were headed straight for the church. For a moment she hoped that they would pass by like the rest, continuing down the street and moving on, but something must have caught their attention and drew them toward the church.

  She readied her shotgun and ducked beneath the window, fearing they would be able to see her, even as she remained concealed in the shadows. The undead walked right up to the church and began scraping the wooden siding with their hands, looking for a way in, getting very hungry.

  More undead soon joined them and ripped away at the church siding. An undead man scraped hard against the wood, tearing away his fingernails and rubbing black blood onto the withered siding.

  The relentless scraping and moaning woke up Eric. He quickly grabbed his knife and crawled over to the window next to Rose, then stared outside at the undead mob.

  “What's going on?

  “I'm not sure,” Rose answered. “I don't think they know we're in here yet.”

  “What if they find out?”