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

wouldn't want to shoot an innocent man, now would you?"
    The old man narrowed his gaze, but didn't remove his hand
from the gun. Trace flicked his eyes toward the girl now riding off across the
desert plains.
    "How about this then. Another game. High card."
Trace motioned to the scattered bills and coins on the saloon floor. "One
card. That's all. Or do we take this argument outside?" He swept aside his
jacket to reveal the Schofield holstered and ready on his hip. "What do
you say?"
    Trace didn't want to kill him—that hadn't been a part of his
plan—but if he must, he could lodge a bullet in that man's skull before the old
man pulled his gun out of the holster.
    "A'right then." The old gambler cleared his
throat. "But I pick the deck of cards."
    "Of course."
    The old man picked up a deck from a nearby table and Trace
helped him right their own. He fanned the cards across the top and invited the
old man to pick a card. He pulled one from the middle and slapped it face up on
the table. A queen of spades.
    Nice card , Trace thought. Tough to beat . With
an eight in fifty-one chance of pulling a higher card, he took a moment to hold
his hands over the cards as if the right one would send an invisible vibration
up through his fingers. He picked up a card, held it briefly from the sight of
the others, and placed it on the table for all to see.
    A six of spades.
    A man standing behind Trace slapped him on the back.
"Nice try, kid."
    He tipped his hat at the old gambler. "Appears it
wasn't my lucky day after all."
    He smiled and walked out of the saloon alive. He could have
won, but chose not to. It would've only invited more trouble, and he didn't
have time for trouble. Of course, the old man didn't know—no one knew, in
fact—that Trace had marked every card in the saloon.
    He hated leaving such a large pot behind, but something
about that red-haired girl made him believe he hadn't lost entirely.

Chapter 2 – Related to Zombies
     
    The small fire spit red-hot embers into the darkened sky.
They cracked and snapped in the night like a miniature fireworks show. She
placed another log on the fire and swung the metal hook holding the small pot
over the heat. It wasn't much—beans again—but it would do for now. She'd hoped
to restock her supplies in the last town, but with all the zombie commotion and
that jackass of a man calling her a liar, it was more prudent to get out of
there and make do.
    She leaned forward and stirred the steaming beans before she
removed the pot from the hook, and settled back on her bedroll to eat her
meager meal. The bushes rustled and she flipped onto her belly, pulling both of
her Quickdraws from their holsters.
    "Hold up! Don't shoot!" A man revealed himself
with hands raised as he led a buckskin quarter horse into the clearing. He
looked familiar, but whether that was a good thing or not, she couldn't quite
recall.
    "Stop right there! That's plenty far enough." She
refused to lower her guns until she placed him.
    He did as she asked and kept his distance. "Ma'am, I
mean you no harm."
    "That's what most outlaws say before they stick a knife
in your side and rob you."
    He shook his head. "I swear, ma'am, I ain't no outlaw."
    "And your word is as good as what?"
    "When you put it that way, I guess it ain't worth much,
but I promise my intentions are pure. I'd just like to share your fire, is all.
I hoped you'd oblige me with your hospitality."
    She pulled back the hammers. "No one's that polite
without a reason. What d'ya want?"
    "Nothing." He raised his arms a smidge higher.
"Honest. I can toss you my guns if you like. You can hold on to them for
safe keeping, if it'll make you feel better."
    "I suggest you leave your hands where I can see them.
If you so much as make a move to reach for your gun, I'll shoot ya."
    "Then I'm not reaching, even if I feel a scratch comin'
on."
    She didn't like this cowboy. His humor made her even more
cautious. "What are you doing out here in the middle of