THE LINGERING

BOOK TWO

RANGERS

BY

BEN BROWN

www.bensebooks.info

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, Random Mouse Publishing.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I am not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Copyright Ben Brown © 2015

Published By Random Mouse Publishing

Table Of Contents

THE LINGERING

BOOK TWO

RANGERS

www.bensebooks.info

Table Of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Prologue

Location: 10 Downing Street, London

Date: March 29, 1843

Time: 4:15 p.m.

Sir Robert Peel sat at his desk and stared out at Downing Street below. In his two years as Prime Minister he had seen nothing that threatened the empire more than the Lingering. The disease had to be England’s greatest catastrophe. Two-thirds of the country’s population had fallen victim to the disease, and the remaining third still struggled with the disease’s aftermath.

He stood and slowly approached the fireplace. His eyes fixed on the portrait of his wife and seven children. The Lingering had robbed him of three of his five sons, and both of his daughters. His remaining two heirs now stood watch over his ailing wife, and if the reports were true, she would soon follow their five unfortunate children down the same path.

He rubbed a weary hand across his temples, and returned to his work. He still had much to do before he received The Queen and her party. The instructions she had sent on before her were very specific, and it would take all of his political skill to ensure they passed the House. But pass them they must.

He turned at the sound of a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

His butler, Mathews, entered. “Prime Minister,” he said with a bow. “The Queen’s carriage has arrived, as has Sir Bexley’s. Might I suggest I prepare the library for your visitors?”

Sir Robert got to his feet once more. “The library would suit our meeting admirably. I know The Queen is awfully fond of the cook’s shortbread. Maybe you could arrange for some with our tea.”

Mathews bowed low. “Of course, sir. I have already taken the liberty of suggesting the cook make a fresh batch.”

Peel bounded by him and said, “Good man.”

* * *

Victoria sat in a large, red leather chair. Bexley, Bartholomew and Peel stood around her with cup and saucer in hand.

“Your Majesty, may I offer you another piece of shortbread?”

The Queen smiled charmingly, and tipped her head. “That would be delightful. You really must get your cook to give her recipe to my staff.”

He passed her a silver platter and she took a slice of the scrumptious treat.

“Now, gentlemen, as good as this shortbread is, I feel it is time for some work. Dr. Bartholomew, would you kindly explain your latest findings to the Prime Minister.”

Bartholomew placed his cup and saucer down, then pulled a number of papers from the briefcase at his side and handed them to Peel.

“Here are all the details of my findings, Prime Minister. But if you wish, I can give you a summary of them now.”

Peel took the papers and headed for a writing desk in the corner of the room. “Please, Doctor, continue.”

Bartholomew straightened and placed his right hand in his waistcoat. “As I outlined to you a day ago, it is my conjecture that we all carry the Lingering in one form or another. I myself have witnessed two people whom were previously untouched by the disease pass from this world. To my astonishment, they then returned from the dead.

“I decided to contact other places of healing to corroborate my suspicions. Every hospital I communicated with confirmed that they had similar experiences. Regrettably, it would seem we are all doomed to linger this Earth until our bodies simply turn to dust. However, I fear it may take decades of decay before the Lingerers find peace, for the disease seems to sustain the body throughout its slow decomposition. But if that is God’s will, then who are we to judge?”

He shook his head sadly and dabbed at his eyes. All in the room averted their gaze from his uncalled for show of emotion.

Bartholomew looked at those around him, and felt ashamed at his loss of composure.

“I apologize; it has been a rather harrowing week. Now, where was I? Ah yes, as you know, we previously dealt with the Lingering by dispatching them with a blow, or shot to the head. I can vouch for how terribly destructive this is to the poor soul administering the final remedy. I myself have dispatched over a hundred Lingerers, and God will judge me for it one day. This cannot be our permanent solution, especially considering most of the Lingering are docile and harmless.”

Peel approached Bartholomew. “Harmless you say? Why I saw one of those things rip apart a guardsmen at my very door. My dear sir, they are far from harmless.”

Bexley raised his hand in objection to the Prime Minister’s remark. “Of course those of the Lingering whom have feasted on flesh must still be dealt with this way. Nevertheless, I really must stress the Lingering only become violent once they have the scent, or taste, of blood. I have seen Rupert here herding dozens of them quietly into a room. Not once did any of them attempt to attack him.”

Bartholomew placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Sir William is quite right. Any man’s beloved dog is harmless and docile. But what if it tasted human blood, would you still trust it? The same goes for victims of the Lingering. Many of these poor souls will never inflict harm. So why should they be destroyed like the ones who have become blood crazed?”

“Dr. Bartholomew, might I ask a question?”

He turned to Victoria. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You say the Lingering will fade if unfed, so what would happen if they had nourishment? Would they continue to live?”

Bartholomew looked at her, and puzzlement filled his face. “If they fed, then one could assume they would linger indefinitely. But, ma’am, they only seem interested in human flesh. It is true that they will kill and maim any beast they find, and this led many to believe they fed upon said animals. However, when the Lingerers were captured and dissected, no animal flesh could be found in their innards. Feeding them is not an option, because they only eat the flesh of the living.”

Victoria flicked open a small black fan, and hid her reddening face. “Quite right, I am sorry for my foolish interruption. Doctor, please continue.”

Bartholomew bowed his head and smiled. “Your Majesty could never appear foolish. In fact, your genius may have found the way of addressing our issues.” He turned back to Peel. “The Queen has a very personal interest in how the Lingering are treated. Her Majesty has come up with the ingenious idea of sending the Lingering to one of the colonies … namely Australia.”

Peel nodded slowly and crossed his hands behind his back. “I am aware of Her Majesty’s idea. While commendable and completely sound, it will be hard to put into practice.”

Victoria snapped shut her fan, and said, “Pray tell, why is that? Surely you govern this country, do you not? If you pass the laws to make this happen, then happen it must.”

Peel turned, and tipped his head in a reverent bow to his queen. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken. However, I would still like an explanation as to why it cannot be done.”

“Ma’am, I am the Prime Minister of England, but all laws have to pass both Houses, namely the Commons and the House of Lords. This is a lengthy and slow process.”

“I am aware of how my country is run, but I think England’s situation might call for some swift lawmaking. Would you not agree?”

Peel bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty, but laws are not the only issue. Australia is a populated land. I admit the population is sparse, but it still exists. We simply cannot expect them to live among the Lingering.”

Victoria smiled politely. “Prime Minister, I never suggested they should. We will repatriate them to other lands. India, The Americas, South Africa, Canada, the list of possibilities is endless. In return for these countries’ help, we will allow them to send their victims of the Lingering to Australia too. We will also extend this kindness to our European neighbors. But for them, it will come at a price.”

Peel’s eyes widened slightly. “Ma’am, are you suggesting we profit from the Lingering?”

Victoria dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. “Profit is such an ugly word. All I am suggesting is that the cost for this exercise should be carried by all involved. The countries that accept our citizens from Australia have paid their bill in kind. Those who do not receive our people must pay in cash. Prime Minister, you must remember England will be giving up one of her finest colonies. Why should we carry the entire burden?”

Peel nodded slowly. “You make an excellent point, Your Majesty. However, this will be an ongoing endeavor. Should not the countries that receive our people pay too? Might I suggest a twenty year reprieve from payment, after which they must also pay?”

Victoria nodded. “That seems like a perfectly sensible proposition.”

Peel turned back to Bexley and Bartholomew. “We will need to procure ships. Have either of you considered this?”

Bexley nodded. “It is all in Bartholomew’s papers, but in essence here is our idea. We will use the Royal Navy to help with clearing the vast numbers of Lingering. They will also deal with the repatriation of our antipodean citizens. We will use a private shipping company once the initial rush is over.”

Peel tapped a finger to his lips. “I cannot see any reputable shipping company wanting to get involved in this. Plus, where would we find the ships?”

Bexley reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “As you know the slave trade was abolished in this country over thirty years ago. Nonetheless, I have discovered close to one hundred slave ships scattered around England and its colonies. These ships are in complete disrepair, but we can have them all shipshape in a matter of months. As for a shipping company, Bartholomew and I are meeting with a man first thing tomorrow. His business is at the brink of bankruptcy, and he has a reputation of being less than particular about what he ships. I propose the government pay off his debts, and gift him these vessels. We will also agree to cover all the expenses for two years, after which he will be on his own.

“None of this must come to light, so the funds and property will be handled by private investors. All the investors will be working on the governments behalf.”

Peel blinked with disbelief. “And why should we treat this man with such generosity?”

Victoria laughed, and Peel turned to look at her.

“Your Majesty, did I say something to amuse you?”

“Yes, Prime Minister, you did. I cannot believe a man of such political awareness as you, cannot see what Sir William is trying to do. This is an unsavory matter, and he is trying to distance the establishment from it. The Navy will help at first, and the public will applaud us. However, as time goes by, the public will see this as something shameful. Who better to deal with a shameful thing, than a shameful man?

“The government can later lament on how sad, but necessary, the shipments are. Such things are always better handled by independent companies. The government must never look like it is washing its hands of the Lingering, but rather it is handing the issue to someone more suited to the task.”

Bexley smiled. “Ma’am, your astuteness astounds me. Her Majesty is right. We must make it clear that this is our only option. We must also make it clear that the matter is to be dealt with without government intervention or assistance. Of course, we will always be pulling the strings from the background.”

Peel nodded and let out a sigh. “Very well, gentlemen, I will make sure the bill is passed and the funds are made available. You just make sure this man of yours is up to the task.” He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied it. He then turned and looked at the calendar on his writing desk. “We will aim to make the first shipment one month from today. Now, gentlemen, I believe we all have much to do, so might I conclude our meeting is at an end.”

Bexley and Bartholomew bowed first to The Queen, and then to Peel. Sir William gestured toward the door, and Bartholomew strode toward it enthusiastically.

“Gentlemen, one more thing.”

Both stopped in their tracks and turned to see Victoria walking toward them.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” replied Bexley.

“This man of yours, I wish to meet with him—in private.”

Bexley turned and looked at his old friend, and then turned his gaze back to his queen. “To what end, ma’am?”

“I simply want to make sure he understands that the Lingering are to be treated respectfully. I also want to meet the man soon to be the richest in England.”

Bexley bowed again. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

This time both men left uninterrupted.

* * *

Harold Westbourne stood before the rear gates of Buckingham Palace in his finest suit. If truth be told, it was his only suit. Since his strange meeting with two men claiming to be The Queen’s representatives, things had got even stranger. The men who had threatened to kneecap him over his debts, had suddenly disappeared. In addition to this small miracle, his once overdrawn bank accounts were now brimming with cash.

The proposal the two men made him seemed too good to be true. All he had to do was ship countless stinking Lingerers to the asshole of the world. If he agreed to do this, then they guaranteed to make him the richest man in England.

At first, he thought their offer to be some elaborate ruse setup by the rozzers. Ever since his little misunderstanding about duty owed on a shipment of tobacco, they had been breathing down his neck. However, the sudden increase in the size of his bank account proved their story to be true.

A guard approached the gate and eyed Harold suspiciously. “What do you want?” the guard growled as his eyes traversed Harold’s crumpled suit.

Westbourne swallowed back his unease, and replied, “My name is Harold Westbourne, and I believe The Queen has requested to see me.”

Harold closed his eyes and waited for the butt of the guard’s gun to shatter his nose.

“Mr. Westbourne, of course. Please accept my apologies for being so abrupt with you. Follow me.”

Harold opened his eyes and saw the guard holding open the gate for him. Wonders will never cease, he thought as he straightened his shabby jacket, and followed the guard.

* * *

Westbourne sat in the largest and most lavishly decorated room he had ever seen. As a boy, he had broken into a few posh houses, but this one took the cake. His eyes shifted to a gold cigarette case on the table beside him. He reached out to pick it up, but the footmen who stood silently in the corner of the room, cleared his throat. Harold looked up at the servant, and the man simply shook his head.

Clearly, his reputation had proceeded him. So instead, he stood and moved to the window. The view of St. James’ park was breath taking. He shook his head and felt sickened by how good the other half had things. Since eight years of age he had fought tooth and nail for what little he had, yet others simply got handed things on a plate. It made him sick to think of how the toffs lorded it over the rest of the land. Now that he had money, he would really show the aristocracy what a hard-nosed Londoner could do. He would make them pay for….

“Mr. Westbourne, how delightful to meet you.”

Harold’s vitriolic thoughts stopped instantly, and he turned and bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

“I see you are admiring the view. It really is spectacular this time of year.”

He looked back at the vista. “Yes I don’t often get to see views as lovely as this. Where I come from, all you see is soot and rats.”

“Yes, well, that is most … unfortunate. Would you take a seat?”

Harold looked back toward the chair he had just vacated, and then smiled agreeably. “Of course, ma’am.”

The Queen took a chair a few yards from Westbourne’s, and she demurely placed her hands in her lap.

“Now, I take it Sir Bexley and Dr. Bartholomew could tell you nothing about why I wanted to see you.”

“No, Your Majesty, they seemed clueless as to why you would want to talk to someone like me. In fact, they made it perfectly clear that they found me to be a distasteful blaggard.”

Again, Westbourne had to swallow down his anger.

“Mr. Westbourne, whether you are a blaggard or not is of very little interest to me. What does interest me, is the project on which you are about to embark.”

“You mean taking the undead to Australia.”

The Queen’s face flushed, and she began to cool herself with a delicate lace fan. “I dislike that term a great deal.”

Harold’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean undead?”

“Yes, now please stop using it. The Lingering still live, just not as we do.”

It was then that a coin dropped in Harold’s mind. No one had seen Prince Albert in weeks. Clearly, he now found himself among the undead. He settled back in his chair and asked, “How’s your husband, Ma’am?”

The Queen almost jumped to her feet. The two guards who had accompanied her into the room moved toward Westbourne, but she held up her hand and they halted.

“Are you always this impertinent, sir!”

Harold shrugged. “Sometimes. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

The Queen looked at the guards, and then to the footmen. “Leave us.”

One of the guards eyed Westbourne, and then said, “Your Majesty, I do not think it wise that we leave you with one such as he.”

Westbourne waved a hand dismissively in the air. “She’ll be fine. After all, I don’t bite … not like her precious husband.”

The guard’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he advanced on the filthy street scum.

“Please, just do as I ask!” The Queen commanded as she returned to her seat. “Stay close to the door, and if you hear anything untoward, then by all means kill him.”

The guards and the footmen left begrudgingly, and then The Queen got down to business.

“As you have surmised, my beloved Prince Albert has fallen foul of the cursed disease known as the Lingering. You say the sufferers of this malady are dead, but I say they live.”

Westbourne held up his hand. “I never said dead, I said undead. Believe me, there’s a very big difference.”

Queen Victoria looked at him angrily. “Semantics!”

He shrugged and picked up the gold cigarette case. “I don’t think so. Let me put it this way. If given the choice between living and being one of those things, I know which I’d choose. They’re no more alive than this lovely box.” He held up the gold trinket. “Do you mind?”

The Queen looked at him in puzzlement. “Mind what?”

“The case, do you mind if I keep it?” Without waiting for an answer, he slipped it into his pocket. “No … good. Now, why don’t we get down to what you want?”

“How dare you speak to your Queen this way!” Victoria fumed as she watched him pocket the case.

“You ain’t my Queen. I ain’t never seen you down the docks. I ain’t never had a helping hand from your sort. The only reason I’m here is because you got something dirty to do, and you don’t want the dirt on your hands. I’m busy, so why don’t we just get to what you want so I can name the price.”

The Queen held her handkerchief to her nose, and then nodded. “As you wish. The sooner I am done with you, the better.

“Whether you deem my husband to be alive is irrelevant to me. I believe it so, and I am The Queen, so it is so. My husband will be transported to Australia in complete comfort, but once he is there he will need feeding.”

Westbourne shrugged. “Fine. I’m sure we can spare a cow or two for him.”

“No, you do not understand. The Lingering must consume living flesh … living human flesh.”

Westbourne sat bolt upright. “You want me to feed him people?”

The Queen closed her eyes and grimaced. “Yes, and they must be alive when you do it. The feeding must wait until he reaches Australia, and it must never come to light.”

Westbourne stood and moved to the window. Even he had his limits. However, his mind turned to what she would be willing to pay for such a service. He turned and stared back at her with the prospect of riches and power building in his mind.

“Australia is being evacuated, but the aboriginals are being left. Is this correct?”

“Yes, this is correct.”

“Good, then we’ll have plenty of pickings to choose from. I’ll see that your husband is fed, but it won’t come cheap.”

“I surmised as much. What is your price?”

“I want twenty percent of your wealth, and I will keep receiving twenty percent for as long as your husband survives. I also want a peerage. I fancies meself a Sir.”

“Are you out of your mind! Twenty percent of my wealth would make for a small fortune each year!”

Westbourne laughed. “I rather think it’s you who is out of their mind. Your old man is a walking corpse and you want me to feed him living humans. As for the money, you can afford it.

“If you agree to my terms, then I’ll guarantee two things. First: your dear old husband will never go hungry. Second: no one will ever find out about it. I’ll kill anyone who tries to spill the beans.”

“Spill the beans?”

“Yeah, spill the beans. It means let the cat out the bag. If anyone tries to uncover your husband’s dirty little secret, then I’ll have them killed.”

Victoria stood. “Then we have an understanding. Now good day.” She rang a small bell, and the footmen entered. “Could you please show Mr. Westbourne out.”

The footmen bowed and gestured to the door.

As Harold Westbourne left, his mind turned to the possibilities that lay before him. If dear old Victoria would part with her fortune so easily, then so would others. He suddenly realized how lucrative this sideline could be.

Chapter 1

Location: Washington D.C.

Date: May 8, 1847

Time: 1: 35 p.m.

Callum watched on as two soldiers led his old and closest friend, Jo, away in chains. For six years, the old man had raised him as his own, and seeing him treated like an animal filled Callum with rage.

Ever since Jo had rescued Callum from certain death at the hands of the undead, the old man had gone out of his way to make him feel like one of the family. The acclimation of their newest family member had not been easy on the Greens. At first, Callum had been all but catatonic from the trials he had endured, but with Jo’s love, and his son’s help, Callum gradually returned to a semblance of normality. However, despite the Greens’ love and attention, not every aspect of the boy’s emotional state had returned to its pre-catatonic levels.

At the age of twelve, Callum had been a typical loving son, but the loss of his entire family, plus many others, had scarred him deeply, and like many other scars, this emotional one had left its mark. While Callum had reunited with life, and all it entailed, certain aspects of his personality and emotional well-being were lost forever.

He knew Jo loved him, and to a lesser extent, so did Jo’s sons, Seth and Jo Junior, but for some reason Callum never felt able to reciprocate the feeling. Sure, he felt deeply grateful to the Greens for all they had done. He even felt extremely loyal to them, and never hesitated at completing any tasks they set him. But love? No he felt no love for them, or for anyone else.

With the death of his trusty dog, Hector, all traces of love had disappeared from Callum for good. The Lingerer that tore the throat from his hound had been the last straw. With that final, brutal attack, the old Callum had died too. Now, a new, colder, and more cynical one watched as the soldier manhandled old Jo into a caged cart.

Callum’s eyes moved from the chain around Jo’s neck, to the leather gag covering his mouth. Callum had seen enough Lingerers to know the gag was over kill, as Jo’s transformation had turned him into a mindless, but harmless, beast.

The old man had passed away quietly in the night. His sons—along with their wives and kids—were at his side as he slipped away, but only Callum stayed to watch over him as he changed. Even though it had once been their father, Jo’s sons felt uncomfortable having a Lingerer in the house. Instead, they chose to wait downstairs until the authorities arrived to take him away.

Callum could not believe their reaction. Jo had loved his sons above all things, and now in death, they treated him like an unwanted and distasteful vermin. It sickened Callum to see the old man treated so disrespectfully. Consequently, as old Jo turned into one of the undead, only Callum had been there to witness his final, and most hurtful insult.

Callum knew the old man felt the same way as he did about the Lingering. He saw them as an abomination, and believed no one should ever have to endure even one second as one of the godless things. He had often told those around him that when the time came, just finish it. However, his sons lacked the fortitude to honor their father’s wishes. They lacked the strength needed to drive a blade through their dead father’s ear. Callum told them he would do it, but they declined. Instead, they said they would abide by the law, and hand their changed father over to the authorities so he could be shipped overseas.

Callum had argued fervently against their decision, but ultimately he had no say in the matter. After all, he was not Jo’s flesh and blood, and therefore held no sway in Jo’s final wishes. Instead, he chose to sit quietly at his old friend’s side until it was time for him to be taken away.

Callum stared at the old man’s reanimated corpse as it groaned and thrashed in the bed. He knew the old man posed no threat, but if even the slightest scent of blood met his nostrils, then that would change in an instant. His old friend would turn into a blood crazed animal, and the thought turned Callum’s stomach. However, he did not allow such thoughts to change his resolve. No, he would show Jo as much respect as he could, so he would sit at the old man’s side until the very end. But after that, he would sever all ties with the Greens. He could no longer be part of a family that treated its patriarch so badly.

When their father had needed their strength and love, his boys had failed him. In Callum’s eyes, Seth and Jo Junior were cowards; too weak to do the right thing. He knew that if Jo were in their position he would not have allowed them to change. Not just because of the indignity it placed upon the poor soul suffering the change, but also because of the stories filtering back from Australia.

The government said the Lingering’s treatment in the Westbourne facilities was both caring and dignified. Bottom line, the Westbourne Corporation took care of the Lingering’s every need and no one needed to fear that their loved ones treatment was anything but good.

However, stories of brutality and neglect were beginning to filter back from the antipodes. Sailors delivering the Lingering returned with tales of out and out horror. The government quickly silenced these individuals, but still the stories spread. Callum could not imagine placing any one, let alone Jo, in such an environment.

No one really knew how long Lingerers lasted. There were still Lingerers wandering the country that were the result of the first outbreak six years earlier. These creatures showed no signs of dying any time soon. Would the Lingering sent to Australia suffer for decades … maybe even centuries? Callum simply could not accept the thought of Jo baking under Australia’s relentless sun. Sadly, there was nothing he could do to stop Jo’s departure, so like Jo, he would instead leave.

Callum felt a hand go to his shoulder, and he pulled free of the touch. “Keep your hands off me,” he growled as the cart started to trundle up the street.

“Callum, you need to understand,” Seth implored as he gestured toward the cart disappearing around a corner. “This is the law. We have to inform the government of all Lingering, and if they’re harmless, they get shipped out.”

Callum pinned Seth with a simmering stare filled with both contempt and anger. “The law! Who cares about the law! You’ve just condemned your pa to years of torture.”

Seth grabbed Callum’s arm and pulled him close. “How dare you say that! I loved him and I’m willing to let him go. You should do the same.”

Callum snatched his arm free, and through gritted teeth, said, “You and your brother sicken me. Jo would’ve died for the both of you, and at the end, you treat him no better than a dog.”

Seth slapped Callum across the face, then stepped back. He appeared shaken by his actions. “Cal … I’m sorry … I … I….”

Callum spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground; he then looked at Seth with his cold eyes. “He was the first one you’ve seen, wasn’t he?”

“What?”

“A Lingerer, he was the first you’ve seen.”

Seth looked back toward his house, and then back at Callum. “Well, yes, yes he was.”

“I’ve seen hundreds, maybe thousands, so had your pa. That’s why he didn’t want to become one of them. He knew how disgusting the things become, and you and your brother just condemned him to that purgatory.”

Seth moved uneasily, then straightened. “But it’s the law.”

Callum grabbed him by the throat. “To hell with the law!”

“Please … yer hurting me,” Seth breathed as he pulled at Callum’s iron grip.

Callum threw him to the ground. “I’m leaving tonight. I’m going to join the Rangers; maybe I can do some good there.”

Seth gradually got to his feet, rubbing at his throat as he went. “Maybe that’s for the best. Will you visit us sometime?”

Callum eyed him for a second, and then replied, “No.”

* * *

As Callum packed, his eyes traced his room. For six years, this room—along with the house and the people who lived in it—had been his world. The early years were filled with pain and adjustment, but as the years passed, the pain turned to contentment. He could not say he had ever felt happy, but he had felt contented and safe. He owed the Greens a lot, and before he left, he would tell Seth and Jo Junior as much. But the house no longer felt like his home. With old Jo gone, the house just felt like bricks and mortar, nothing more.

It was strange; he could hardly remember his old house at all. He had vague, almost dreamlike memories of the home he once shared with his real parents, and of course, his sister, Tilly. It was as if the memories and images that flashed through his head were in fact from some story told to him as a child. A story full of happiness and love. He felt as if the story could never have involved him. It felt as remote as any fable or fairy tale. A story too perfect to have ever been real. His eyes fixed on the shelf above his small bed, and suddenly his chest seemed heavy. Callum’s legs went weak, and as the anvil on his chest grew in weight, he crumpled to the bed.

The shelf contained the only tangible link to his past. A memory manifested in wood and steel. His father’s face bloomed in his mind, and an overwhelming sense of sadness enveloped him. With Jo’s death, Callum had now lost two of the most important men in his life, and the object on the shelf brought that reality slamming home.

Callum struggled to his feet and reached for the manifestation of loss that sat on the shelf above his bed. He took it and ran his finger over its blade. Years had passed since he had last touched the weapon, and those years of neglect had dulled the blade of his father’s tomahawk.

The weapon had sat above his bed for six years, but he could honestly not ever remember looking at it. He remembered Jo placing it on the shelf, telling him it would be there for when he needed it, but then nothing. Six years equaled nearly twenty-two hundred days, and in all those days, he had never given it a second glance. It was as if that part of his life never existed. By ignoring the weapon, he could ignore all that had happened to him. Yet, now the weapon seemed to call to him, and it wanted to be part of his life once more.

Callum gripped its shaft and hefted its weight. Its balance felt good in his hand. He swung the weapon, and a feeling of familiarity filled him. Muscle memory took over and he wielded the weapon with the expertise of an Indian brave. Finally, he threw the tomahawk at his door, but the dullness of the blade meant it failed to penetrate its hardwood, and it clattered to the floor.

“Is everything alright up there?” a voice called from below. He thought it was Seth, but he could not be sure.

“I’m fine,” he yelled, “I just dropped something.”

He picked up the weapon and eyed it lovingly. The first thing he would do upon reaching Ranger training would be sharpening the tomahawk’s blade. Never again would he allow it to dull.

His mind turned to what lay before him. Ranger training was notoriously hard, with over ninety percent of applicants dropping out in the first six weeks. Life as a Ranger meant months on end out in the badlands; regions infested with not only undead, but wild and lawless people too. For the ten percent that made it through basic, nearly half died in the field within the first few months. It was a hard life, but if ever America was to reclaim all its lands, then the Rangers were the men to do it.

A combination of lawman and soldier, Rangers administered justice on the run. It called for unflinching and unyielding loyalty to the state, and an unforgiving nature. Callum knew his cold demeanor made him well suited to the task. Combine that with his knowledge of the Lingering and his abilities as a woodsmen, then being a Ranger made the only obvious course for the rest of his life to take.

On top of this, Rangers were forbidden families and wives, which suited Callum down to the ground. He would no longer need to find excuses for his distant manner. Rangers’ were, however, permitted to bed women, but such things did not interest him, nor were they monitored. So from a physical and emotional stand point, he could lead an almost monastic life.

At eighteen, he knew he would be one of the youngest recruits, but he would not allow his young age to hold him back. He would do everything in his power to complete basic, and to head to where he belonged. He belonged in the wilderness, among the trees and the plains. Above all, he belonged among the undead. He would make them pay for taking his family, and for taking Jo.

* * *

Callum hugged Seth’s wife, Eliza, he then ruffled the hair of Seth’s two kids, Billy and Mary. Finally, he turned to Seth.

“Sorry that Josiah couldn’t be here, but he had to take his family to the market.”

Callum knew this was a lie. Ever since old Jo’s death, Jo Junior had avoided him. Callum did not want to make matters any worse, so he simply played along with the deception. “That’s alright, I understand.”

For several seconds both men simply stared at each other, then Seth pulled Callum into an embrace. “I love you, Cal, take care.”

Callum simply endured the embrace. He did not feel love for any of the Greens, but he knew they felt it for him, so he bore Seth’s emotional farewell stoically.

“Whenever you get the chance, please come back and see us,” Seth breathed between sobs.

Callum pulled free and looked at Seth with dry eyes. He knew he would never return, but why put salt in the wound. “I’ll try. Thank you for everything; I’ll never forget your kindness.”

Seth nodded, but said nothing. With that, Callum slung his pack over his shoulder, he checked the tomahawk on his belt, and then turned and walked away.

Chapter 2

Location: The Appalachian Mountains, Carolina

Date: July 21, 1851

Time: 7:02 a.m.

Sergeant Pierre La Roux stood and then ran his hands through his lustrous black beard. At almost seven feet tall, the sergeant more closely resembled a beast, than a man. Thick, dark, curly hair covered nearly every inch of his heavily muscled body. Even the backs of his fingers seemed covered in a dark thatch. Except for the fact he wore clothes, he could have easily been mistaken for a grizzly. Although, grizzlies were nowhere near as ill-tempered as La Roux.

La Roux scanned his surroundings, then yelled, “Wentworth, where the hell are you?”

The melodic French undertones of his Cajun accent took some of the unhidden anger from his words. However, his body language portrayed a story of disgust. Disgust at what the clearing in which he now stood held.

Like a wraith, Callum moved noiselessly through the undergrowth and suddenly appeared at the sergeant’s side.

“Jesus Christ, boy, I don’t know how the hell you do that, but stop it!”

In the years Callum had spent as a Ranger, he had honed not only his woodsmen’s skills to a razor’s edge, but also his abilities as a Ranger. He could move and kill in complete silence, but his skills had not always been as sharp, and his body bore the scars to prove his shortcomings. A large scar ran from his right eye all the way to his chin, the result of a knife fight with a slave dealer. His back held fifty cruelly matted welts, the result of lashes, all of which were administered by a brothel owner who disagreed with Callum’s decision that girls of nine were too young to work in his establishment. After receiving the lashes, Callum had promptly killed the man, then freed the girls.

His whole body bore testimony to his time in the Rangers, and with every injury he endured, his resolve and skills grew. At twenty-three, and now five years in to his lifetime commitment to the Rangers, Callum had already out lived the Corps’ life expectancy. Very few lasted past three years, or even six months. Within the first couple of years of service, the vast majority of recruits either ended up dead, or found themselves too badly injured to continue. Those who made it past two years found themselves counted among the elite. Subsequently, the Corps tended to treat them as Gods among the Rangers. All the men in Callum’s small unit were like him … elite.

“You wanted me, La Roux?”

Rangers never addressed each other by rank, to do so would point out chain of command to any unwanted onlookers. Such mistakes often resulted in the death of the higher ranks, so only names were ever used.

“What do you make of this?” the sergeant asked as he gesture to a body at his feet.

Callum looked down at a badly mutilated body of a naked woman, and then returned his gaze to the big Cajun. He then looked at the third member of their team, Private Jack Anderson, and gestured for him to move closer. With Anderson stood at La Roux’s side, Callum began to scan the small clearing for signs of what had happened. He moved to a bush some feet from where the woman lay, and examined its foliage. After a moment or two, he headed back to the corpse and crouched to make a closer inspection.

The body of the unfortunate female showed all the signs of a brutal rape, as made evident by the blood pooled beneath her crotch. Her torso had also been torn open, and her innards now lay beside her. If this were not enough, countless stab wounds riddled her body. He now needed to move her, but touching her with filthy hands seemed wrong. He stared at his dirt ladened palms, and then tried to clean them as best he could. First, he rubbed them vigorously on his pants, and then examined them again. Dirt still lay in the deep cracks of his calloused hands; so using a little water from his canteen, he began to wash them.

Once done, he gently lifted her onto her side, and he could not help but hear some more of her intestines spilling forth. He grimaced and lowered his head to take a quick glimpse at her back. As with his own, a network of lash marks laced her flesh, but unlike his, her wounds were recent. He then lowered her, and shifted to peer at the soles of her feet. They were cut and bruised, obviously the result of a running barefoot through the woods. Hundreds of scratches covered her battered, naked body, further pointing to a desperate attempt at escape. Finally, his intense scrutiny turned to the sharpened piece of wood protruding from her eye.

Sickened by what she had endured, he shook his head and uttered a prayer for her. With his eyes shut, his hand drifted to the tomahawk on his side. He would find the men who did this, and when he did, he would make them pay.

He stood slowly and looked up at La Roux, who stood a good nine inches taller than he. “Well, she was obviously raped, but before that someone put her through hell. They also didn’t want her to change into a Lingerer, which is why they jammed the wood through her eye.” La Roux’s face showed nothing, but Callum could tell he was unhappy with his answer. “Am I missing something?”

La Roux nodded. “Why hasn’t she been eaten by the Lingering? I mean, look at her. She still fresh and her scent would be picked up by them for miles around.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve tangled with any undead.” Anderson said as he circled the corpse. “Whoever killed her may have something to do with the low number of Lingerers in this region.”

Callum looked back down at the woman and realized La Roux was right. Although they had not come across many Lingerers over the past few days, they had crossed paths with a few, so why were they leaving this tasty morsel untouched. He also realized something else. Women had become the most precious commodity in the badlands, certainly too precious to kill. So why had they not just raped her and then dragged her back with them.

“There’s something else,” Callum said as he reasoned out his next comment. “Why kill her at all. A woman as young as her would’ve been worth a pretty penny around these parts. Rape is just another tool traders use to keep their merchandise under control, but they would never kill, not unless they had to. She shows no signs of being bitten, so that ain’t why they did it. Also, it ain’t a warning, otherwise they would have strung the body up for everyone in the area to see. No, I reckon this is something else.”

Private Jack Anderson knelt and traced a finger over the grotesque wound in the dead woman’s abdomen. He then frowned and pulled his knife. Carefully, he placed the tip of his blade into the wound, and lifted the large flap of flesh. With his free hand, he picked up a piece of the woman’s innards, and followed it with his hand back to its source.

“What the hell are you doing?” La Roux barked as he moved to pull Anderson off the corpse.

Callum grabbed La Roux’s massive forearm. “Wait, give him a second.”

Callum knew the slim, red headed Ranger now examining the body had once aspired to be a doctor. He had even spent a year or so in medical school. However, after the murder of his parent’s, his vocation in life had changed.

Pale faced, Anderson looked up at La Roux, and all but whispered, “I think this woman was pregnant, and they cut the baby out of her.” The young Ranger gestured to the piece of innards still laid in his hand. “I ain’t sure, but I think this is an umbilical cord, and it’s been cut, not torn. If I’m right, I think it points to the baby being cut out of her while she still lived. In which case, the child could still be alive.”

“God damn it!” La Roux bellowed as he kicked at the ground. “Just when you think things can’t get any worse than they already are, you have to go and tell me that. What’s wrong with the people round here. We’ve been stuck in these mountains for months, and all we’ve met are sick minded deviants. What kinda person does something like this!”

“Ones that leave trails,” Callum replied calmly.

La Roux rounded on him. “Why does this never seem to bother you? You never seem shocked by anything we see. Some insane redneck hillbilly cut this poor woman open, and then took her unborn child. Yet there you stand, calm as Billy be damned. What’s wrong with ya, don’t you ever feel anything?”

“That hillbilly raped her too. He raped a pregnant woman, then before he killed her, he took her unborn child,” Callum said as he started looking for tracks.

“Jesus,” La Roux said as he grabbed his hat from his head and threw it at the ground. “Why did you have to remind me of that!”

Callum stopped his search for tracks, and turned back to La Roux. “For the same reason I don’t let this get to me … we have a job to do. The longer you stand around here bellowing, the colder the trail gets.” Callum’s gaze turned to the private knelt by the dead woman. “Anderson, how long do you think she’s been dead? By my reckoning, it can’t be more than six hours. Do you agree?”

Anderson stood and dusted off his pants. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Good, they went this way and they only have six hours on us.”

La Roux picked up his hat and rammed it back on his head. “They?”

“Yep, they. I’ve found tracks of at least four men, maybe five.”

Anderson looked down at the woman. “You don’t think they all ra….”

“Don’t think about it,” Callum interjected coldly. “What ever happened to her happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that. Picturing her last moments won’t bring her back. All we can do now is give her some justice, which means we need to find those who did this, then kill them.”

La Roux slapped Callum on the back, almost knocking him over. “You should be in charge, not me.”

Callum shook his head. “Why not say that a bit louder. Talking like that, well, you may as well paint a target on your back.”

La Roux eyed the woods around them. “We’re alone out here and you know it.”

“You may be right,” Callum said as he headed into the woods following the tracks. “But if you break protocols once, then you’ll do it again, and next time you may not be so lucky.”

Without further talk, the three Rangers headed silently off in search of the woman’s killers.

Chapter 3

La Roux’s fighting skills were prodigious, but he also had weaknesses. Each man in the three Ranger strong unit had skills that the others lacked. No one, either living or the undead, could outmatch La Roux in hand-to-hand combat. On top of this, his marksmanship almost matched his bare-knuckle skills. Anderson possessed good language and negotiation abilities. His grasp of not only a number of native dialects, but also French and German, had got them out of a number of close calls.

As for Callum, his skill set spread the widest. Despite being nine inches shorter, and nearly a third lighter, Callum could almost match La Roux blow for blow. While the big Cajun had brute strength on his side, Callum had speed and guile. Callum also knew more than one native tongue, but he lacked Anderson’s patients when it came to negotiation. In his opinion, people should just blindly obey every instruction a Ranger gives. If they refused, then they would find themselves on Callum’s wrong side, which often resulted in a quick death.

However, where Callum really excelled was tracking and predicting the movements of his quarry. With this in mind, Callum now led the small band of Rangers in their pursuit of the woman’s killers. Like a bloodhound with a strong scent in its nostrils, Callum charged on with little thought of the branches and brambles clawing at his flesh. He was in his hunting mode, and nothing would distract him from running down his quarry.

They moved almost silently through the thick forestation of The Appalachian Mountains. Years of hunting not only the undead, but the living too, had sharpened each man’s awareness to an almost unbelievable level. Without thinking, each of the Rangers found just the right place to place their feet. Not once during their eight-hour pursuit, had one of them broken so much as a twig. This was no mean feat considering a thick layer of dead foliage covered the ground.

From time to time, Callum would signal for them to halt, and all three would hunker. He would then move briskly off, leaving the other two to hold position. After a few minutes, he would return and direct them along a new path. In this manner, the three moved wordlessly closer to the disgusting animals who had so vilely violated the poor woman they had discovered earlier. Despite the heat of the day, and the hunger in their bellies, none made any signs of needing either water, food, or rest. To break from their hunt could result in the loss of the prey. No, food and water could wait. All that mattered now was the capture of the filth they pursued.

A further two hours of careful tracking and the three found themselves at the edge of a craggy ravine, at the bottom of which ran a small river. Callum peered over the edge of the large rock on which he stood, and then looked back at his companions.

“They’re down there somewhere,” he said as he reached for his canteen.

After almost eleven hours without a drink, the water tasted like nectar. Callum took three deep gulps from his canteen, and then wiped at his mouth with the coarse cuff of his sweat soaked shirt, which poked out from beneath the sleeve of his Lingerer proof leather coat. The heavy leather coat meant the heat of the day was even more intense, but it would protect a Ranger from the teeth of a Lingerer’s attack. Because of this, the Rangers suffered the coats short comings.

La Roux moved to the edge of the rock and looked down. His eyes moved slowly across the terrain and he pointed to a path leading to the river below. “They must’ve gone that way.”

Callum nodded and slung his canteen back over his shoulder. “Yep, seems that way to me….”

The sound of a woman’s terrified scream, followed by a baby’s cry cut Callum off in mid-sentence. The three Rangers moved closer to the edge and peered over once more. Another scream, this time filled with pain rang up from below. Callum swung his heavy pack from his back and pulled out his binoculars. He knew the light from the sun would glint off them, possibly warning those below of their presence, but he had to risk using them. He had to see exactly where there quarry lay. He swept the river below, and at first glance almost missed the well-concealed group. Just a few feet from the river, and almost completely hidden by a scraggy tree, five men hunched around a half-naked woman. One of them stood, and Callum increased the magnification of his binoculars so he could get a clearer look. To his disgust, the man began to urinate on the woman. Callum had seen enough.

“We got five men at the bottom of yonder path,” Callum said as he quickly prepared his weapons. The two Rangers at his side did the same. “They’ve got another woman down there, and I think they’re about to rape her.”

“We need to move fast, so just sidearms and blades. Leave everything else here,” La Roux barked as he and Anderson mirrored Callum’s actions.

Callum did not wait for further instructions. Instead, he charged down the path at a full run. La Roux and Anderson were slower in preparing for the ensuing fight, but they were still only a few feet behind.

The time for stealth was over, now the bloodletting would begin. Callum hoped the noise from their attack would cause the men assaulting the woman to forget her, and turn their attention to the rapidly approaching threat. Almost instantly, bullets started flying in his direction, but they fell short.

The five men below were still using muskets, which were not only inaccurate at long range, but were slow to reload. In the ten years since Callum’s first encounter with the undead, firearms had advanced a great deal. Luckily for him, Rangers’ carried nothing but the best in the way of fire power.

He pulled his Colt revolver and prepared to open fire. He just needed to wait for the last of the men below to fire their antiquated muskets, then he would let loose with his six-shooter. One last shot sounded from below, and Callum felt something bite at his calf. He ignored the pain and continued to barrel down the path. He watched as the first man finished reloading, and then raised his musket to fire again. It was time. Callum centered his revolver on the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. A second later, the musket wielding animal’s head exploded, drenching the man beside him in blood.

Now La Roux and Anderson were firing as well, and another two of the five men dropped. Now only two of the murdering filth remained. Realizing their death was imminent, one swept the baby up into his arms, and the other pulled the woman up by her hair. Both now used their hostages as a shield.

Each held a large knife to their human shield’s throat, and both men grinned as if they had just saved their skin. The tiny baby, which was still covered in its dead mother’s blood, began to scream with a new vigor. Its face turned blue as it vocalized its terror and discomfort. The bastard holding it shook the child angrily, and its head snapped back and forth. Callum skidded to a stop as the baby fell silent; he gestured for the other Rangers to do the same. If the child was harmed, then he would make sure its captor would suffer before dying.

“Now I think it’s time for you good old boys to put down those guns!” the man hiding behind the woman yelled. “Throw them there guns on the ground and then step on back.”

Callum, La Roux and Anderson complied.

“Good. Now what do you fellas want?”

Callum could not believe his ears. What did they want? He looked back at La Roux, and the big man nodded for him to continue.

Callum raised his hands over his head and stared into the woman’s impassive face. He saw someone who accepted pain, and expected little else. He focused his mind on what had to be done, and then said, “We’re Rangers out of Fort Miles. We were patrolling these here mountains when we found a dead woman. It appears somebody—or more likely, multiple somebodies—raped and then murdered her. I don’t suppose you folks know anything about it?”

The man looked at his companion and smiled broadly, revealing a set of almost completely black teeth. He then looked back to Callum. “What we do with our property ain’t no concern of yours, so get!”

Callum felt rage threatening to overwhelm him, but he bottled it up. He needed to stay in control. “Afraid we can’t do that … get I mean. You see, we’re going to kill you.”

The man holding the woman shifted slightly, and Callum made the most of it. With rattlesnake like speed, he whipped his tomahawk out and launched it at the man’s head. Knowing that his aim was true, Callum did not wait to see the results of his handy work. Instead, he bolted for the man holding the baby.

La Roux read the situation perfectly, and he snatched up his revolver and put a bullet through the baby holder’s knee. Even before the piece of shit collapsed to the ground, Callum had already swept the baby from his arms. Screaming and writhing with pain, the man crashed to the dirt and looked up at the Ranger with complete surprise. Clearly, the fool had never anticipated things ending so badly for him. With babe in arms, Callum stood over him and placed a boot on his throat.

“Anderson, check on the woman,” La Roux bellowed as he holstered his gun. Anderson complied.

Whimpering slightly, the woman still stood as if she still had a blade held to her throat. Anderson picked up a dirty blanket that lay near her feet, and covered her with it. This seemed to bring her out of herself, and she collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

La Roux moved to Callum’s side then bent. The young Ranger took his boot off the filth’s throat, and with one massive hand, the Cajun picked the mewling piece of scum up.

“Give the child to me.”

Both Callum and La Roux turned. La Roux still had the man dangling by his collar. The woman looked at them both and then gestured to the baby.

“The poor mite is hungry, let me nurse him.”

Callum moved to where she sat, and carefully passed her the baby.

“I thank ya,” she said, “This poor little fella were my sister’s.”

Callum suddenly felt a new anger build in him. He turned slowly and looked into the scared eyes of the man in La Roux’s grasp.

“Tell me,” Callum asked in a low and menacing tone. “Can this piece of dirt tell us anything that you can’t?”

“Nope,” the woman replied as she offered her breast to the baby.

Callum move to the corpse near the now nursing woman, and pulled his tomahawk free of its skull. He then turned slowly back to La Roux.

“I pity you,” La Roux said as he dropped the man to the dirt. “Callum here ain’t too keen on rapists. I think yer in for a world of hurt.”

The man started to drag himself toward the river, and hopeful salvation. With one leap, Callum landed on him and drove his fist into his face, shattering nose and teeth alike. He then drew the blade of his tomahawk across the man’s throat. A great gush of blood burst forth, and Callum dodged out of its way. He then lowered his lips to the man’s ear, and whispered.

“Yer going to burn in hell for what you done, but before that, yer going to spend some time as a Lingerer. Normally, I show people like you a kindness, and I put a bullet or a blade through their head. But that’s too good for you. Once you bleed out you’ll die, and then turn into one of the undead. Trouble is…” Callum started filling the man’s pockets with rocks. “…yer going to spend years trapped at the bottom of this here river. As you rot, fish will feed on you. Finally, your flesh will become too waterlogged to stay together, and the river’s currant will rip you apart. I don’t know if the Lingering feel pain, but if they do, I hope you feel everything.”

Callum stood and the dying man’s eyes followed him. He moved to where the small band of lawbreaker’s had stashed their provisions. Silently, he grabbed up a rope, and a sack of root vegetables. The others watched on as he poured the vegetables onto the ground, and then filled the sack with yet more rocks. Once done, he tied the sack around the man’s midsection. Callum knew the target of his vengeance only had a few more seconds to live, so he move to his ear once more.

“I’m going to find all your kin, and if they’re like you, I’ll kill ‘em all.”

Now pumped dry of blood, the raping murderer expired and his eyes closed. With that, Callum stood and grabbed the dead man under the arms. Without another word, he started dragging him into the river. The rocks tethered to the man made the going hard, but Callum gritted his teeth and waded deeper. In less than a minute, the water lapped at Callum’s neck and he released the body.

The corpse sank to the bottom, and in the clear water, Callum watched as its eyes opened. The blood from Callum’s injured calf flowed into the river’s current, and the reanimated man almost instantly tried to bite his wounded leg. Normally, Rangers feared Lingerer’s blood getting into their wounds, but the rock ladened creature had no more blood to fear. However, Callum took a couple of steps back to avoid its teeth, but he still watched the newly hatched Lingerer. He wanted to make sure the rocks would keep it securely beneath the rivers surface. He watched it for more than five minutes, then waded back to shore.

“Yer bleeding.” The woman said almost conversationally.

Callum raised his pant leg, and saw a bullet graze on his calf. “It’ll be fine. As soon as we retrieve our packs, I’ll give it a clean and bandage it. How are you?”

The woman shrugged. “Those sonsabitches have messed with me and my sister for nigh on a year. They’ve put me through worse.”

Callum shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Ain’t your fault. My sister … did they mess her up bad?”

Callum looked at La Roux and Anderson, and then simply nodded.

The woman began to sob quietly.

“Why don’t you and La Roux go get our gear. I’ll stay here with….”

Anderson looked at the woman and asked a question with his eyes.

“Me names Tilly … Tilly Maxwell.”

On hearing the name, Tilly, Callum felt suddenly filled with old memories. Tilly had been his sister’s name, and hearing the word spoken aloud opened old wounds.

“Are you alright?” La Roux asked as he took Callum’s arm.

“I’m fine. It’ll be dark soon, so we best go get our gear.”

La Roux led the way back up the path, and Callum’s gaze drifted back to Tilly as he went.

Chapter 4

Night was already falling by the time Callum and La Roux returned with the gear, and they noticed Anderson had not been idle in their absence. A fire now burned in the clearing, and three rabbits roasted in its flames. He had also found time to throw the four dead bodies of the men they killed earlier into the river, thus washing them downstream and clear of the camp.

“Where did you catch the rabbits?” La Roux asked as he sniffed the air. “They smell right good.”

“I didn’t catch ‘em,” Anderson replied as he prodded one of the cooking animals. “The fellas we killed caught ‘em. I saw no reason to let them go to waste, so thanks to those disgusting pigs, tonight we eat well.”

All thoughts of his sore leg left Callum’s mind as his mouth began to water at the smell of the cooking meat. His empty belly let out a loud growl, and as if to pacify an unsettled and hungry child, his hand unconsciously patted it.

He heard the baby let out a slight whimper and his attention moved briefly to the woman, Tilly. She looked a lot better than when he had seen her last. She had taken the time to wash away a little of the filth that had covered her. In addition, she now wore an old and extremely tattered dress, but in spite of the dress’s battered state, it offered the poor woman at least a little more dignity than being half-naked. He also noticed how young she was. Earlier, covered in dirt and with the lack of hope etched in her face, she had looked old and almost at the end of her endurance. Now, with the dirt washed away and the protection of a group of Rangers, she seemed to be a different person. He knew he was reading a lot into his glimpse of her, but he was used to absorbing a lot in a short time. He could read more from a single glimpse, than most could ascertain in an hour.

Callum moved to a log a small distance from both the fire, and the rest of the group. He sat down and finally attended to the bullet graze on his calf.

With babe in arms, Tilly leaned toward Anderson, who only sat a foot or so from her side. “Is he alright?” she asked as she flicked her head in Callum’s direction.

Anderson looked toward Callum and nodded. “He’s just a quiet type of a man. He don’t say much, but when he does it pays to listen. Don’t mind him none.”

She got to her feet and approached the silent Ranger tending to his wounds on the log. Callum looked up at her briefly, and then returned his attention to his wound.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Callum looked up again. “Why would I mind?”

“Well, yonder Mr. Anderson says yer the silent type. Silent types generally like being on their own.”

Callum straightened. “If that’s what you think, then why are you bothering me?”

She smiled and said, “Because I wish to thank ya.”

Callum’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

Tilly’s face filled with confusion. “Why, for saving me of course.”

Callum returned to tending his wound. “No need to thank me. I was just doing my job.”

“That’s as may be, but the man you dragged into the river was my brother, Jacob Junior, and….”

Callum’s head snapped up. “He was your brother? But he was going to rape and kill you.”

She nodded sadly. “That he was. Me and my sister, Alice she be … or should I say, she were. Well, this here boy be my brother’s child….”

Callum stood. “Hold on, you mean your brother fathered a child with his sister?”

She nodded again. “And with me, but they already killed my baby girl.” She started to weep. “That’s why me and Alice ran. We didn’t want ‘em killing her child. We knowed it were a sin having a child to our brother, but he forced himself on us. The sin be my brother’s, and ‘twere not the baby’s doing. Yet, ‘twere they who paid for the sin. We just wanted her baby to live.”

La Roux and Anderson now stood at her side. The big Cajun placed a caring hand on her shoulder. Callum could see how much sorrow and pity his companions felt for her, but all he felt was the need to give her justice. He loathed himself for not being able to feel empathy for her, but he knew that part of him was as dead as Tilly’s sister Alice.

“Alice were only sixteen,” she sobbed.

“God Damn it,” La Roux growled angrily. “What kinda animal….”

Anderson looked at La Roux and shook his head, cutting the Cajun short. “Listen,” Anderson said, “Why don’t we all sit down and have something to eat, then you can tell us what’s going on here.”

***

They ate the rabbits in relative silence. La Roux ate one of the three rabbits on his own, while Callum and Anderson shared the other two with Tilly. As they ate, the three Rangers rarely took their eyes off the poor woman now cradling her dead sister’s child. She could clearly tell their eyes were firmly fixed on her, as she never allowed her gaze to meet theirs. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on her food. Occasionally, she would let out a small sob of grief, but she would quickly choke it down.

It took them only half an hour to polish off the three rabbits, and as La Roux placed a coffee pot next to the fire to warm, Anderson moved closer to Tilly.

“You know we only want to help, don’t you?” he said as he placed a hand on the baby’s head. “We just want to prevent what happened to you and your sister from happening to anyone else. To do that, we need to know as much about the people who harmed you as we can. We need to know who, and where, they are. We need to know their numbers and we need to know how well-armed they are. I know it will be hard for you to tell us these things. You will need to tell us things that you would rather forget, but please believe me when I say every detail is important. The more you can tell us, the better the chances we have of stopping them.”

Tilly looked at Anderson, and then her eyes drifted to Callum and La Roux. Finally, her gaze turned to the baby in her arms.

“I’ll tell ya all I know, but I warn ya, it ain’t pretty.”

Now La Roux and Callum edged closer to her, and Tilly began her harrowing tale.

Chapter 5

Tilly placed the sleeping baby on the blanket beside her, and then turned back to the Rangers, who had now gathered close to her.

“My family is right big, even by these here part’s standards. Pa—Jacob Maxwell he be—but everyone just calls him Pa Maxwell, well he has four brothers and three sisters. He’s the oldest of the eight of them. Each has between six to eight kids themselves. Ma gave birth to twelve, but three dun died. When the damned Lingering plague hit our family, we numbered close to seventy. We all lived real close to each other, so things went bad real fast. It were like we all lived in a village, only everyone in the village were kin. We were happy, but the Lingering changed all that.

“We’d dun heard tales of the Lingering, but for almost a year the curse seemed to just pass us by. But that all changed when my cousin, Billy, came back bit on the leg. He said he’d stumbled across the thing in the woods. It had no legs, so Billy didn’t see it hidden in the undergrowth. It were just lying there, and when he got too close, it grabbed him by the leg and then sunk its teeth into his ankle. He managed to brake free, and came running on home.

“Within a week of Billy’s bite, we’d lost nearly thirty people to the curse, but not a single one of then turned ornery. All of ‘em just sorter milled about, but that changed when my Ma gave birth to her thirteenth child. We guess they’d dun smelled the blood, and they changed in seconds. They burst into our house and started going crazy. Luckily, only Ma, and my aunty May were inside, but those things ate them both … and of course, the baby.” Tilly dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, but her eyes were dry. Her action was more one of reflex than necessity. “I wonder if that there coffee is ready yet. I could do with something a might stronger, but coffee will do just fine.”

La Roux felt the pot and found it hot to the touch. He poured four cups and passed them to each of those gathered around the fire. He then reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. He held it aloft, and all nodded. He poured a nip of the alcohol into each of his companion’s cups, and then did the same to his coffee. He then looked at the bottle, but before he recorked it, he took a sizable swig of its contents.

Tilly took a sip of her drink and coughed. “My God,” she said in a horse whisper. “Where did you get that stuff?”

La Roux smiled. “Don’t rightly recall, but it warms the insides real good.”

Callum took a deep draft of his own drink, and then gestured for Tilly to continue.

Tilly placed her cup on the ground beside her and once more commenced her harrowing tale. “Pa and the other men of the family managed to kill all the undead, but the whole episode left him changed. He started saying strange things. He thought ‘twere our job to round up all the undead in the area and just keep ‘em corralled. Anyhow, we did as he said, and started rounding up the harmless ones, the rest we killed. Then that new law came in, the one saying the harmless Lingerers had to be shipped off. Would’ve been about six or seven year ago.”

“Eight,” Callum interjected. “It came into force eight years ago.”

Tilly nodded. “Could’ve been eight year ago, don’t rightly recall for sure. Pa said that the government weren’t going to take our Lingerers, and that we should hole up in the mountains. By this time others had joined us, not family, just people who had heard about what Pa and the other men folk were doing … you know, with the Lingerers. These new folks kinda worshiped my Pa, which seemed to make him go even stranger. He would sermonize about how the Lingerers were folks too, and the government had no right taking ‘em away. A few weeks later, he led us all up into these here mountains. There were fifty of us, and thirty Lingerers.”

“Yer saying he brought the undead as well?” Anderson asked in disbelief.

“Yep. We just herded ‘em along like sheep. We built a camp, penned up the Lingerers, and set about starting a new life. As the years went by, Pa only got worse. Soon, everyone started thinking he were the voice of God. I knew it weren’t so, but by then, it were too late. He said women were nothing more than baby machines, and that any man had the right to do with ‘em as they pleased. He said that the Maxwell blood line ran all the ways back to The Lord All Mighty, but the bloodline had become corrupted by the women’s sin.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “It were then that he said it were God’s will for Maxwells to breed with other Maxwells. He said ‘twas the job of all the Maxwell men to punish all women, but especially Maxwell women. After that, any woman folk with Maxwell for a last name really began to know what hell was. Fathers, brothers, and cousins all took their turns. Babies started being born with … defects … limbs missing, or with heads that were misshapen.”

“Jesus,” La Roux growled as he pulled the bottle of whiskey from his pocket and drained it in one long draft.

Anderson’s hand went to hers. “Do you need a break? Is this getting too much?”

Tilly shook her head and bravely plowed on. “I’m fine, just let me finish, then I’ll never speak of my Pa or the family again. My Pa blamed the baby’s defects on the women, and the Devil. He said the mother’s minds weren’t pure, so he ordered each man in the camp to flog the mother of the defective child twice over. This meant the mother would receive as many as sixty lashes. Trouble was, the village had all these ruined babies that no one wanted. He said that God must’ve sent the corrupt children so he could feed the Lingerers. It were then he started feeding the babies to the undead. The babies were still alive when he threw them to the Lingerers. The women tried to stop him, but the men folk just beat us all back. The first baby belonged to my oldest sister, Martha. She went out of her mind with grief and threw herself to the Lingerers too.”

Callum stood suddenly. A rage like he had never felt before filled him. Tilly looked up at him, and he saw how truly heartbroken she was. “Was your baby born with defects?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“My little girl had no eyes.” She began to weep uncontrollably. “She were my Pa’s baby too, but he just threw her to those things like she meant nothing to him. I hate that man; I hate him with every piece of my heart.”

For more than half an hour, all Tilly could do was cry. The three Rangers watched her, but none said a word. Anderson simply held her hand. Finally, her weeping subsided, and she struggled on.

“Now they don’t even wait to see if the babies are born ruined, they just feed ‘em to the Lingerers anyway. Pa says it’s the End of Days, and all new born babes must die to avoid going to hell. Truth is, he’s created hell, and he’s the devil in charge.”

“How many men does he have?” Callum asked softly.

“Around thirty to fifty. It’s hard to say for sure because they come and go so much. There are only fifteen women now, and they’re raped and beaten daily. He keeps the women locked in the barn across from the Lingerers’ pens. He keeps ‘em there to remind them of where the babies will end up. Over half the women are pregnant.”

“Can you give us a detailed layout of the encampment?” La Roux asked.

“Yep.”

The Cajun nodded and asked another question. “Are they well-armed?”

“Mostly muskets and bows, but they do have some pistols and rifles too.”

La Roux nodded again. “I want you to describe the whole encampment to us, especially were the women are held. Tell us the quickest route there, and how long it’ll take us to get there on foot.”

For the next hour, Tilly drew plans of her old prison in the dirt. As they only had the light of the fire to illuminate her illustrations, the three Rangers huddled close. She left nothing out. She told them of the quickest, safest route to the camp, plus what to expect when they got there. She told them of the hundred or more Lingerers held in pens dotted around the camp. She warned that all the undead now had the taste of blood, and that her pa had told all the men under his command to release them if ever an attack was mounted on the camp. This added an extra level of risk to their mission, but not one they had not faced before. Finally, she described her father’s appearance in great detail. When found, he would bear the full wrath of the Rangers.

La Roux stood and stretched his back. “We leave at first light. Anderson, you’ll take Tilly and the baby down the mountain. Me and Callum will deal with the Maxwell clan.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Anderson protested. “You’ll be heavily outnumbered, so you’ll need all the fire power you can get.”

“True,” the Cajun said as he twisted side to side. “But do you want Tilly or the baby falling back into their hands? Whether there’s two or three of us really won’t make much difference, but I know I want that little woman and that child well out of harm’s way when the bullets start flying.”

Anderson looked at the tired woman sat beside him. She looked just about spent. “Yer right,” he said, “I’ll take them to Fort Miles and then I’ll head back up here with a couple of squads of men. I won’t be back for over a week … maybe as much as ten days. Will you and Callum be alright ‘til then?”

“We’ll have to be,” La Roux said as he undid his bedroll. “Callum, you take first watch. Anderson, you next. I’ll take last watch. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for all of us, so let’s all get some sleep.”

Tilly had already laid down beside her dead sister’s baby. Snoring quietly, she finally seemed at peace. Anderson looked at her and said. “I wish I could be there to put a bullet in her pa’s head.”

“I ain’t going to waist a bullet on him,” Callum uttered as he settled on a nearby rock and began his watch.

Both Anderson and La Roux looked in his direction.

“Boy, you scare me at times,” La Roux said as he laid down. “In fact, you scare me more than any Lingerer.”

Callum’s cold eyes turned in the Cajun’s direction. “Why?”

The Cajun let out a yawn, then said, “The undead don’t know what they’re doing, but you do. You do things that make my blood run cold. Do you know why my blood runs cold, Callum?”

Callum considered La Roux’s question. “No, I have no idea.”

“There’s your answer, boy. You don’t realize how good a killing machine you are, or how brutal you can be. When you cut that fella’s throat earlier today, you did it with the same unfeeling coldness of a Lingerer. You could’ve just killed him, but that weren’t good enough for you. Now I’m not saying the sonofabitch didn’t deserve it, but that’s a whole different matter.”

Callum’s brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

La Roux turned his head in Callum’s direction and raised himself up on one elbow. “Yer a human, Callum, not a Lingerer, so don’t act like one. If someone deserves to die, then just kill ‘em, don’t torture ‘em. If you keep doing things like you did earlier, then you’ve missed the point of being a Ranger. We’re trying to return humanity to the badlands. We can only do that by being better than those we punish. We shouldn’t go beyond that mandate; otherwise we’re no better than ‘em.”

Callum stared off into the night and allowed La Roux’s words to sink in. “Yer right, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be better.”

Chapter 6

After Callum’s watch was over, he joined the others sleeping by the fire, but sleep alluded him for quite some time. La Roux’s words had bothered him. He had always believed himself to be just and fair, but others clearly saw him as something else. He knew he could do things others would not, he also knew this was because he had something missing in his makeup. Some would call it a heart, but Callum thought calling the ability to feel loss, love, and remorse, nothing more than heart, was too simplistic. What he lacked had nothing to do with the heart, and everything to do with the mind.

In recent years, a new and relatively obscure field of medicine had come to his attention. Psychiatric medicine now dealt with more than just locking away the insane. It not only tried to diagnose different disorders, but it tried to treat them. In his spare time, Callum had read as much as he could on the subject, and as a result of his extensive reading, he had come to the conclusion he suffered from some kind of mind disorder.

How else could he explain his disconnect from those around him. He had once thought his disconnected nature a good thing. If he could no longer feel the pain of loss and love, then it would make it easier for him to do his job. But was he allowing his disconnected emotional state to get the better of him? Was he turning into as much of a monster as the Lingerers?

His mind turned to his family, and especially his father. Jon Wentworth was the finest man Callum had ever known. He knew most sons’ felt that way about their fathers, but in his case, others felt the same as he. Everyone in Hope Cove knew Jon Wentworth to be a good man. Not only that, he was loving and kind to his wife and children, which was something of a rarity in Hope Cove. How would his father view his actions? Would he see them as the acts of a good man? Somehow, Callum doubted it. La Roux was right. He was allowing brutality to become his favorite weapon.

After hours of wakeful contemplation, Callum finally slipped into a deep slumber—and like every other night since the death of his dog, Hector—Callum slept with dreams of death and blood. However, his damaged mind somehow controlled the harrowing effects of the dreams, and simply shutdown his fatigued body so it could rest.

To him, as with food and drink, sleep had become nothing more than an annoying part of life. It brought him neither pleasure nor discomfort. It was just something the body needed to keep it functioning, so he slept when sleep was needed, and ate when food was needed. To him, his body was nothing more than a machine that needed fuel and maintenance.

***

Callum woke to the sound of a pan being placed on the fire. Tilly looked over at him and smiled.

“Would ya like some bacon before you head out?” she asked as she pulled a lump of smoked meat from a sack.

He nodded. “Yes please.” He stood and looked out at the river. “Tilly….” She looked up at him. “…I’m sorry for treating your brother so badly.”

She followed his gaze to the river. “That man stopped being my brother the first time he raped me.”

Callum crouched beside her. “What I did … did it upset you?”

She looked at the pan of sizzling meat. “Well, yes, a little. I’ve seen a lot of awful things over the past few years, but they were always committed by bad people. You ain’t bad, Callum, but what you did was. It frightened me in the same way my Pa frightens me.” She looked at him. “Callum, as one who has suffered, I can see the same suffering in others. I can tell you’ve suffered greatly, maybe more than most, but don’t let the suffering turn you into something ya will later despise. Yer a good man who is starting to stray down the wrong path, but you still have time to turn back. Being a Ranger is honorable; don’t dishonor it by becoming like those you hunt.”

Callum looked away, but her hand found his. She squeezed it, and he nodded. “Thank you, Tilly. Yer a gift when I needed it the most.” He looked back at her. “My sister’s name was Tilly, and I feel like I’m speaking to her when I speak to you.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’m guessing she’s one of the ones you’ve lost. Try to make her proud.”

Then something happened that had not happened in many years, a single tear rolled from his eye. “I’ll try,” he said in a horse whisper.

Callum stood and walked into the river. La Roux, who had been listening to Tilly and Callum’s exchange, stood. He watched on in worried silence as Callum moved deeper into the river. Finally, he stopped and pulled his knife, then he reached below the surface and pulled up the head of the Lingerer he had dragged there the day before. The creature gnashed and tried to bite him, but Callum held it at bay with ease. Then, after a short prayer, Callum drove his knife through the creature’s eye.

Callum dropped the dead thing back into the water and started wading rapidly toward shore. Once ashore, he headed back to Tilly and stood before her, dripping.

“I’m sorry for upsetting ya with the way I treated yer brother. He deserved to die, but he didn’t deserve what I did to him … no one deserves that. I promise ya that I’ll remember to be better than those I pursue, and I will never sink that low again.”

Tilly rose and slowly moved toward him. For several moments, she simply stood there, just staring at him, but then she embraced him.

“Yer sister would be proud,” she whispered as her mouth drew close to his ear.

La Roux moved to Callum’s side, and he slapped him on the back. “Come on,” the Cajun said as a smile lit his face. “We have a long way to go, so we best be getting on the move. Once we’ve eaten, we’re heading out.”

With breakfast finished, and the farewells out of the way, the group broke into two. With Anderson and Tilly heading for relative safety, Callum and La Roux headed in to danger.

* * *

La Roux and Callum walked in silence for close to three hours, but finally La Roux broke the quiet.

“Why do you never talk about your family?”

Callum stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the Cajun. The two had been alone many times, but La Roux had never broached this topic before.

“In all honesty, I only remember small snippets of my life before the Lingering.” Callum knew this was not the entire truth, but it was close. “I remember what my family looked like, and I remember what kind of people they were, but I remember very little of my life with ‘em. I know they were good people, and I know that after the outbreak my father died trying to find my mother and sister. I remember fighting alongside him.” Callum stared at the ground. “I also remember how helpless I felt.” He looked back to La Roux. “I don’t feel helpless anymore.”

La Roux looked at him, then nodded slowly. “We’ve all lost people to the Lingering, and we all react differently to the loss. Eight years ago I lost my wife to ‘em, and that’s why I joined the Rangers.”

Callum felt shocked by La Roux’s admission. In all their missions together, the Cajun had never mentioned being married.

“I’m sorry … how did it happen?”

La Roux sighed and looked up the track on which they now walked. “She simply contracted the disease somewhere. She weren’t bit, and we’d never even seen one of the undead. She used to work at the town store, so I guess someone carrying the disease must’ve given it to her. Anyway, she died and I joined up two days later.”

“How old was she?”

“Let me see,” the Cajun said as he stared at the sky. “She would’ve been thirty-two this year, which means she were twenty-four when she died. She was one of the first to be shipped away, and I still regret letting ‘em take her. I should’ve ended her suffering, but I was too grief stricken to think straight. What I’m trying to say is we are all survivors of loss, but it’s how we deal with that loss that matters. I finally think yer going to handle your loss in the right way.”

The big Cajun headed off and Callum just trailed him with his eyes. Finally, he followed, head bowed in contemplation. This mission was getting harder by the minute, not because of any physical threat, but because it was making him look at himself, and Callum didn’t like what he saw.

Chapter 7

By the time Callum and La Roux reached the edge of the Maxwell’s encampment, dusk was falling. They sat on an outcrop of rocks perched high above the ragtag collection of huts and tents. Below them, men milled about, but they could see neither women nor Lingerers.

Callum pointed to the settlement below. “There’s the barn where the women are kept,” he said in a hushed tone.

La Roux looked toward where Callum pointed and nodded. “There’s only two fellas guarding ‘em, which is good for us. I say we wait ‘til the middle of the night and then we head down there and free the women. We’ll need to make sure we leave ‘em somewhere safe before we head back to sort out the rest of ‘em.”

Callum hunkered down behind the rock. “If we free the women, then we tip our hand. They’ll be looking for us.”

“I ain’t hitting that place while the women are still there.”

Callum nodded. “Alright. It shouldn’t be too hard to get the women out. After all, those guards hardly seem like they’re sharp.”

La Roux stifled a laugh. “It’s a full moon for the next few nights, so we should at least have a little light to work with. Of course, it also means we’ll be easier to see, but you can’t have everything.”

Callum pulled on a pair of leather gloves and peered over the rock again. “We could leave ‘em with a little present as we leave.”

“Like what?”

“While you lead the women out of the camp, I’ll let loose some of the undead. It should cause enough confusion to cover our tracks.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

With the moon at the zenith of its arc over the Earth, the two Rangers positioned themselves either side of the barn holding the women. Callum drew his knife and let out a noise resembling an owl. A second later, a hoot from the opposite side of the barn indicated it was time to move. Callum leaped into action. Soundlessly, he darted to the front of the barn. La Roux was already there, and had made short work of his guard. The man assigned to Callum pointed his gun at the big Cajun, but Callum took him before he could fire. With a hand covering the guard’s mouth, Callum slit the man’s throat and lowered him to the dirt. La Roux moved to the barn’s large doors, and found them locked with a piece of wood used as a crossbar. He lifted the wood from its metal restraints and laid it on the ground. As quietly as he could, La Roux pulled open the doors and peered inside.

Fifteen pairs of eyes stared back at him, but not one of the women made a sound. “We’re here to help,” he whispered, “Tilly sent us.”

On hearing the name, ‘Tilly’, the women in the barn began to whisper among themselves.

“Keep the noise down,” La Roux whispered as he peered over his shoulder. “We have to go.”

A woman who looked remarkably like Tilly stepped forward. “She be my sister, Tilly I mean. Is she safe?”

La Roux nodded. “Yes, now come on.”

The woman turned back into the darkened barn and gestured for her fellow prisoners to move. La Roux looked toward Callum and nodded. The young Ranger needed no further instruction. Instead, he simply bolted off toward the closest pen housing the Lingerers.

As Callum drew closer to the Lingerer’s pen, he could hear their groaning. Clearly, the smell of the blood from the two men he and La Roux had just killed excited them. Several started to throw themselves at gates that looked far to flimsy to hold them back. He peered through the slatted walls of the enclosure and saw it contained around thirty undead, all of whom were now getting more and more agitated.

He looked around, but saw no one guarding the pen. If he released the creatures now, they would more than likely head off in search of not only the blood, but the women too. He had to wait a little longer; otherwise, he could end up killing those he was trying to save. He crouched and kept an eye on his surroundings. Several minutes passed, and now the noise from the undead had grown too loud to ignore. It was time to release them.

He got to his feet and headed for the pen’s gate.

“Hey! Who the hell are you!”

Callum turned to see a man nearly as big as La Roux charging straight for him. Callum’s hand went to his tomahawk, but before he could draw it from its holster, the man had already slammed him into the pen’s gate. Callum fought as the giant’s hand wrapped around his throat and his feet left the dirt. He lashed out at the man’s face with his fists, but his blows were ineffectual against the oaf’s thick skull. Callum could now feel hands pawing at him from behind. The undead were trying to grab him through the slats of the gate.

His left hand once more went in search of his tomahawk, and this time he managed to pull it free of its restraint. He raised it high in the air, but the giant’s free hand shot to his wrist. His assailant squeezed, and Callum dropped his tomahawk as he felt his wrist break. The man then slammed Callum’s useless hand against the gate. It hit the wood so hard that it smashed through the timber and into the pen. Instantly, he felt teeth biting into the leather of his gloved hand. He knew he only had a few seconds before the teeth found his flesh, and then the Lingering would enter his blood.

The man grinned and tightened his grip on Callum’s throat. “Seems our friends in there have a taste for ya,” he growled as he drew his face closer to Callum’s. “Once they’ve had your hand, I might just throw you over to ‘em.”

With the oxygen to his brain cut off, Callum could feel himself beginning to pass out. He needed to act, and fast. Callum’s remaining free hand worked its way down the man’s body until it landed on the handle of a knife. The thug could feel what Callum was doing, but with both his hands full, he could do nothing to stop him. As Callum pulled the knife, the teeth of a Lingerer penetrated the leather of his glove, and he felt his flesh begin to tear as the ghoul bit down harder. He only had one option left open to him.

The giant man’s eyes went wide as Callum brought the large knife up in a high, fast-moving arc. The man followed the blade with his eyes as Callum raised it, then slammed it down on his intended target. The man released his grip on Callum, and stumbled back. The look of shock and disbelief on his face was unmistakable.

Callum dropped to the dirt, coughing and cradling his damaged wrist. Blood spurted from the grizzled stump, but Callum worked against the pain of severing his own hand. It had been his only option. He had to cut off his hand before the disease could reach his blood stream; otherwise he would be cursed to become one of the undead. Callum looked up at the monster of a man before him, and focused on what had to be done. The man, in turn, stared at Callum’s handless, blood soaked wrist with a combination of disbelief and shock.

Callum did not wait; instead, he leaped to his feet and attacked. It took him less than a second to dispatch his attacker by using the man’s own knife. As the giant hit the dirt, Callum turned and dashed to his tomahawk, which lay on the ground a few feet away. He holstered it, and then turned his gaze to a fire near one of the tents. A pot hung in its flames and a thick column of steam rose from the pot.

He could hear the camp beginning to stir. Voices were starting to emanate from every direction, and he realized he only had a matter of seconds before his escape would become impossible. But first, he needed to stem his bleeding, so he gritted his teeth and ran for the pot.

Callum took several deep breaths, and pressed his mutilated wrist against the pot’s piping hot metal. His head swam with pain, and once again unconsciousness threatened to take him. However, he knew he could not relent, so he swallowed back a scream and pressed his stump harder against the pot. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and the stench instantly revived him.

“Over there!” a voice shouted to his right.

Callum looked in the direction of the shouts, and saw two men running in his direction. His good hand went to his six-shooter, but before he could draw it, the gate to the pen holding the Lingerers finally gave way. The undead erupted from the gate like a torrent of rotting flesh. They instantly saw the two men running toward Callum, and made a beeline straight for them. In a heartbeat, the men’s shouts turned to screams. More men began to appear, but the Lingerers made short work of them all. Callum removed his wrist from the pot, and then vomited into the flames at what he saw.

The wound looked like a badly burned piece of steak, but at least the cauterization of his flesh had stopped the bleeding. The flap on the front of the tent closest to him opened, and a man holding a rifle stepped out. His eyes fixed on Callum, but then they turned to the mayhem by the pen. Without thinking, Callum pulled his gun and promptly put a bullet in the man’s head. He then turned and looked toward the Lingerers feeding a few yards away. Several now looked in his direction, and he knew he was next on the menu. He put a round in each head of the Lingerers staring at him, then he bolted off to find La Roux and the women.

With every jarring step he took, bolts of pain roared up his injured arm. The pain was almost unbearable, but thanks to his cold single mindedness he was able to compartmentalize it. Pain was just something to endure, but never something to succumb to. He pounded onwards and drove all discomfort from his mind. After a few minutes of intense running, he stopped to look for signs of La Roux and the women.

His heart was pounding like a sledgehammer in his chest, and his vision kept moving in and out of focus. Suddenly, he heard the sound of pursuers crashing through the trees behind him. With the knowledge that the noise was most likely the result of the undead, he turned to look in the direction of the sound. As he turned, his foot caught on a root hidden beneath the carpet of leaves that covered the ground. He crashed to the dirt, landing heavily on his injured arm. Despite his considerable self-control, he screamed with pain.

At that moment, two Lingerers burst into the tiny clearing where he lay, and they eyed him hungrily. He knew he had to fight, but his body refused all orders his brain sent it. He feebly reached for his gun, but he fainted before his hand got within six inches of it.

The Lingerers moved closer to his unconscious body, and as if to call others to their location, they let out a loud, guttural sound. The creatures peered around for a few moments longer, then they lunged for the fallen Ranger.

Chapter 8

La Roux led the women deeper into the thick undergrowth of the woodlands surrounding the Maxwell’s camp. He had to put as much distance between them and the camp as he could before Callum released the undead. He looked over his shoulder and saw most of the women were falling far behind him. He stopped and waited for the closest, Tilly’s sister, to catch up.

“What’s yer name?” La Roux whispered as she reached him.

“Isabelle, but folks call me Izzy.”

“Listen up, Izzy. Unless we get a move on, we’re going to end up dead.”

“I know that,” she hissed. “But none of us have eaten in days. We’re weak and we’re tired.”

“That’s as may be, but you’ll all be just as dead if either the men in that camp, or the Lingerers catch us. Do what you have to, but make it clear to the rest of the women that they’re moving too slow.”

“Why don’t you tell ‘em?”

“I think they’ve had enough of men barking orders at ‘em.”

At that moment, the sound of distant gunshots filled the air.

“Is that your friend?” Izzy asked as she looked back toward the camp.

“I think it may be. If he’s using his gun, then he’s in real trouble.”

“I know of a cave just east of here, and only us women know of it. After severe beatings we use it to hide out in. We could wait there ‘til your friend catches us up.”

La Roux nodded. “You take the others to the cave, I’m going to go and check on Callum. Just in case I can’t find you, have someone keep an eye out for us.”

Izzy looked scared, but she complied with La Roux’s request.

The big Cajun watched as the women trooped past him, and then he headed back in the direction he had just come. He felt bad for abandoning them so soon, but he knew he had no choice. Everything told him Callum was in trouble, and he would not abandon him to either the Maxwells, or the undead.

Izzy had her head screwed on, and he knew she would make sure her kin made it safely to the cave. Things never went smoothly, and improvisation was the hallmark of a good Ranger. It was time to improvise. With luck, he would find his companion merely pinned down. If that were the case, then he hoped for a quick return.

* * *

La Roux navigated his huge body silently through the dark undergrowth of the woods, and despite his concerns over Callum’s safety, he did not allow himself to panic. He knew the young man was most likely the best Ranger he had ever met. No matter how bad things got, Callum never seemed flustered or intimidated by events unfolding around him. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was Callum Wentworth.

More shots rang out from the direction of the camp, and La Roux quickened his pace. He knew Callum intended to create as much havoc as he could, but the sounds of gunfire somehow frightened the Cajun. He knew Callum only ever used his gun in the most extreme of circumstances, the rest of the time he relied on silent forms of killing, such as his tomahawk. If the young Ranger had resorted to using his gun, then things must be grim.

After a few minutes of running, La Roux could hear the sounds of undead all around him. He drew to a stop, pulled his large hunting knife, and readied himself for their inevitable attack. To his left, a blood chilling cry of the undead filled the air, and he spun on his heels to face the threat. He had heard such calls of the undead before, and he knew it meant only one thing … Lingerers were about to feast and they were calling for they kind to join them. La Roux did not think; he just reacted. Every muscle in his body leaped into adrenaline filled action, and he charged toward the terrifying bellows.

This is what Rangers were born to do. They faced death head on, and never flinched in the face of overwhelming odds. La Roux’s heart pumped adrenaline to every cell of his body, and an almost euphoric sense of anticipation filled him. As far as he and every other Ranger was concerned, Lingerers were a blight that needed to be eradicated. Facing the undead always filled him with fear, but the greater feeling that prevailed over him was one of good. Fear always faded because he knew that if he died in battle, then at least he died ridding the world of the undead. He did not suppose this bought him a free ticket into heaven, but he hoped it got him close.

La Roux burst into the clearing and abruptly halted. Two Lingerers were about to feed on an unconscious man laid in the dirt. It took La Roux a second to realize the Lingerers’ intended meal was Callum! With his shock dissipating, La Roux leaped to the young Ranger’s aid.

One of the Lingerers already had its mouth a mere inch from Callum’s face, so La Roux threw his knife at it with all his might. The blade tore into the creature’s skull and near sliced its head in two. The second Lingerer turned its attention to the Cajun and charged him like an enraged bull. La Roux parried the charging creature, and sent it headfirst into a nearby tree. The foul thing crumpled to the dirt, but it was far from out of the fight. As the Lingerer struggled back to its feet, La Roux pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth and nose—so as to block unwanted Lingerer gore from entering his system—then moved to finish it. However, the Cajun had hardly moved before strong hands gripped him from behind. More Lingerers had arrived.

La Roux threw his full body weight backward, and slammed the new arrival to the dirt beneath him. No sooner than they had landed in the dirt, then La Roux rolled to one side and grabbed up a nearby rock. The creature, which had just been beneath him, lunged forward, but the rock in La Roux’s hand met it halfway. He drove the rock into the creature’s mouth with the speed and force of a runaway steam train. The Lingerers jaw shattered, and La Roux pounded its head with the rock twice more. The Cajun now knelt near the corpse of the Lingerer that had his knife protruding from its skull. He retrieved his weapon and rounded on the Lingerer he had just thrown into the tree.

Two more Lingerers stood at the creature’s side, and all three charged La Roux almost as one. The big Cajun widened his stance and readied himself for their onslaught. As the first creature reached him, he raised his forearm and allowed it to sink its teeth into the thick leather of his protective coat. With that ghoul occupied, his attention turned to the second of the three. With its mouth open so wide it almost looked as if it had unhinged, it leaped into the air and flew toward his throat. The Cajun held his ground, and lunged out with his knife. With a grisly thunk-slurp, his blade found the creature’s skull and entered bone and brain alike. The ghoul’s aerobatic flight stopped as soon as his head slammed into the knife’s hilt. With its brains obliterated by his blade, it dropped harmlessly to the dirt at the big Cajun’s feet.

Now the third of the undead drew closer, so La Roux drove his shoulder into the creature latched to his arm, and charged toward the third Lingerer. He hit it hard and continued back toward the tree the creature had hit only moments earlier. The three of them, two undead and one living, slammed into the tree, which made the Lingerer chewing on his arm release its bite. As quick as a snake, La Roux pierced its head with his blade, and then he did the same to the one pinned to the tree. More groaning filled the clearing behind him, and La Roux turned to see at least ten undead heading his way.

He holstered his knife and pulled both his six-shooters. Damn the noise, the time for hand to teeth combat is over. Now the real killing will begin, he thought as he prepared for the onslaught.

Raising both guns at once, La Roux moved toward the undead and opened fire. His breathing was level, as were his emotions. He had done this many times before. One head, one bullet. He opened fire and began felling the foul smelling creatures who were so intent on tasting his blood. With each shot, a Lingerer fell, but almost instantly another took its place. The first of his six-shooters ran dry, and he threw it in the air and caught it by its barrel. The metal was hot, but his leather gloves absorbed much of the heat. Soon, his other gun ran dry; again, he threw it in the air and caught it by the barrel.

He now stood astride Callum like a sentinel. A creature missing half its face ran at him, but the Cajun brought one of his guns down on its head like a club. Its skull exploded like a ripe melon, bathing both the Cajun and Callum in blood and brains. He only hoped none of the gore made its way into Callum’s unconscious mouth, but there was little he could do if it had. He had no time to worry about such things, so instead he concentrated on killing. Again and again, the creatures attacked, but like Samson with his donkey’s jawbone, La Roux clubbed them away with ease.

Before the tide of undead subsided, the Cajun had caved in the skulls of around ten undead with his six-shooters. With his chest heaving from his exertion, La Roux waited for more undead to arrive, but none came. He looked around the tiny moonlit clearing, and counted close to thirty lifeless bodies. Had he really killed that many Lingerers single-handedly? He guessed he had.

A groan brought him back from his thoughts, and he looked down at the man beneath him. Callum was beginning to wake, which meant it was time to go. La Roux stepped to one side as he holstered his blood soaked guns, then he bent to pick up the injured Ranger at his feet. In the mayhem of protecting his fallen companion, La Roux had noticed very little about Callum’s condition. It was then he noticed his friend was missing a hand.

The Cajun froze. Had Callum been bitten? La Roux drew his knife and readied himself to dispatch the young Ranger. He placed the tip of his blade inside Callum’s ear, and then took a closer look at the young Ranger’s injured wrist. He lifted the mutilated stump closer to his eyes and studied the wound closely. It showed no signs of teeth marks. In fact, it looked like a clean cut that had been sealed by fire or heat.

“Did you do this yourself?” La Roux whispered as he removed the tip of his knife from Callum’s ear. “Did you do this to save yourself?”

Callum mumbled something from his semiconscious lips, but La Roux could not make out what his young friend said. To his rear, and far too close, he heard the sounds of men shouting to each other. His questions could wait, it was time to move.

As gently as he could, the Cajun lifted Callum into his arms and turned to go. For the briefest of moments, he contemplated staying to fight the men who had caused his friend so much pain, but one look at Callum’s pale face told him that would not be a good idea. With that, La Roux ran off in the direction of the cave, and hopefully at least a small amount of safety.

Chapter 9

Izzy stood hidden on an out crop of rocks approximately one hundred yards from the mouth of the cave, in which hid the rest of the women from camp Maxwell. She shook slightly as she strained her eyes and peered off into the dark and distant tree line. She shook not because of cold or hunger, but because fear seemed to fill every inch of her body.

Fear was something she and the other women in the cave behind her had grown used to. So constant was the sensation that she had almost accepted it as normal, or at least as normal as life in the mountains would ever seem. Just as she accepted winter was cold and Lingerers ate living flesh, fear had become a constant. In other words, fear was something she could do little to relieve or abate. Yet the fear she felt now was something new … more palpable, more threatening.

For the first time in a long time, she saw a little light at the end of the tunnel. She saw freedom for not only herself, but also the other women back in the cave. The fear she now felt was not the fear caused by constant beatings and rape, but rather the fear of losing what little glimmer of hope she and the others had. If the Rangers failed to return, then she and the others would surely be captured. The beatings they received as punishment would be severe, but what really frightened her was the thought of never being free of her family. Freedom hung on the two Rangers, and if they failed to return, then all was lost.

It had been quite some time since La Roux had left them to go in search of his companion, and Izzy had an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She suddenly felt sure that her family had captured not only the big Cajun’s colleague, but also La Roux himself. If that was the case, then it was only a matter of time until her family tortured the truth out of them and learned the whereabouts of her and the other women.

She looked back toward the cave and pondered if it would not be wiser for her and the others to just run. After all, when had any man treated them fairly? Were the Rangers any different from every other man in her life? Surely they would abandon her at the first signs of being in danger. With her mind made up, she started for the cave but stopped when she heard movement to her left. She crouched and peered toward the increasing sound of foot falls.

Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she felt sure that whoever approached her could hear it too. She felt around in the dirt by her feet, and her hand stumbled upon a large stick. She picked it up and readied herself for a fight. If this was one of the men from the camp, then she would not give up without at least the semblance of a fight. With luck, she would be able to brain him before he realized what had happened.

With these thoughts ricocheting around her mind, a massive dark figure suddenly appeared in front of her … and it seemed to be carrying something. Without thinking, she leaped to her feet, let out a scream, and then swung her stick straight at the figures head. The mass moved and her stick broke across the shapes massive shoulders. She lunged forward—hands held like claws—and ripped at the figures face.

“Hold up,” the shadowy mass yelled. “It’s me … La Roux.”

Panting from both exertion and the sudden flow of adrenaline, Izzy collapsed backward and fell to the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” she panted as she struggled to slow her thumping heart. “I thought ya were one of the men from the camp.”

“They’re sure enough out there, but I managed to lead them astray. I’m sure no one followed me, but just in case, we need to get inside that cave and out of sight.”

Izzy struggle to her feet, it was then she realized La Roux held an injured man in his arms.

“What happened to him?” she asked as she drew a little closer.

“I don’t rightly know, but he’s lost a hand.”

She moved back. “Was it taken by a Lingerer? ‘Cos if it was, then he’s already as good as dead.”

“The wound is a clean cut and it’s been cauterized. I think he cut it off himself. Listen, we need to get him in the cave so I can treat his wound, so can we talk about this inside.”

“Of course, of course … follow me.”

* * *

Izzy led La Roux to a small thicket of bushes, which nestled at the bottom of a large rock face. From behind the bush, the faint sound of women talking in hushed tones could be just heard. If someone stood a mere few feet farther away, then they would hear nothing.

Izzy pushed the foliage to one side and revealed a tiny opening at the base of the rock face. She looked at the opening, then back at La Roux, and realized the giant man would struggle to fit through the opening. As it was, the only way to enter the cave was on hands and knees, but even if La Roux dragged himself in on his belly, it would still be an extremely tight fit. She looked up into the Cajun’s large, but kindly face and saw he was thinking the same.

“First things first,” he said. “We need to get Callum inside, so I suggest you go inside and bring back a couple of women to help us get him through that tiny little hole.”

Izzy nodded and shot inside the cave. She reappeared a few moments later, followed by two women who looked barely out of their teens.

“You two stay just inside the opening,” La Roux said as he nodded to the two new arrivals. “I’ll lay Callum head first by the opening, then you two take an arm each and drag him in. Izzy you push from behind. Once yer all in, I’ll see if I can fit through the opening myself. I must admit it’ll be like threading a camel through an eye of a needle, but I’ll give it a go.”

The two young women, Mary and Josie, positioned themselves snugly in the opening, and then La Roux lowered his still unconscious ward down to them. He removed Callum’s backpack and then nodded for them to pull him in. With grunts of effort, they instantly started dragging him inside. As his waist disappeared through the opening, Izzy dropped to her knees and started to push at his butt from behind. After a minute or so, Izzy popped her head out of the cave and smiled up at La Roux.

“Your turn,” she said as she grabbed Callum’s pack and started to back her way back inside the cave.

La Roux shook his head woefully and removed his own pack from his back. With a sigh, he threw it to the ground and dropped to his belly behind it. Using his elbows and knees, he began to traverse the small opening to the cave. Through it all, he pushed his pack forward with his head. It took him nearly five minutes to squeeze through the opening, and the ensuing ten yards of narrow passage that led to the main cave.

Chapter 10

After more than a few scrapes and scratches, La Roux’s bulky frame finally emerged into the cave. With a groan of relief and pleasure, he rolled onto his back panting. He knew a fast escape from the place would be out of the question, but at least the caves entrance would be easy to defend. After a few moments, he raised himself up on his elbows and looked around.

A number of candles and a small fire cast a dim light over the interior of the cave, revealing a large open cavern. The enveloping darkness above the small ring of light made it appear as if the cave had no ceiling.

He looked toward the fire and watched as its smoke twisted its way into the gloom. He noticed that the thin plume of grayish vapor seemed to disappear into nothingness. This he knew meant there must be some kind of opening above, otherwise the cave would have quickly filled with smoke.

Around him, huddled on dirty blankets, sat the fifteen emaciated and terrified looking women. All but Izzy stared at him with a combination of fear and loathing. His eyes quickly tracked to where Callum lay unattended.

“Ain’t none of you checked on him!” La Roux growled angrily.

He clambered to his feet and quickly moved to his friend’s side. He found Callum in pretty much the same state as he had left him only minutes earlier. He was still unconscious and sweat beaded his brow. The big man dropped to his knees beside the young Ranger, then gently patted his cheek. When Callum did not wake, La Roux’s pats turned to slaps.

“Come on, Wentworth, wake up.”

Gradually, Callum began to stir, and his eyes slowly opened. “Where are we?”

Relieved, La Roux dropped back on his haunches and said, “We’re in a cave with the women from the camp. Seems ya had a bit of a run in with someone.”

Callum looked down at his mutilated wrist, and then closed his eyes. “I got jumped by some big ox from the camp. He tried to feed my hand to the undead in the pen, so I had no choice but to cut it off.”

Even though La Roux suspected as much, hearing the words coming from Callum’s mouth still shocked him. “You cut your own hand off?”

“The Lingerer had my fingers in its mouth, and I could feel its teeth cut through my glove and into my fingers. If its drool got into my system I would’ve ended up as one of them. You know as well as I do that bites are certain death … or worse. Losing a hand was the better option.” Callum eyed his surrounds groggily, and then asked, “Is there any water.”

La Roux pulled a canteen from his belt, then raised Callum’s head and held the water container to his parched lips. “Drink slowly, otherwise you might start puking.”

Callum took several small sips and then La Roux lowered his friend’s head to the blanket.

“I saw a pot boiling on a fire, so I held my wrist against it to stop the bleeding.”

La Roux winced. “That must’ve hurt like a sonofabitch.”

Callum smiled a little. “It did.”

“The big man who attacked you … did you kill him?”

Both Callum and La Roux looked in the direction of the weak voice. A mousey woman timidly returned their gaze.

“Why, yes, ma’am, I did.”

She nodded slowly. “I think that might have been my husband.”

“I … I’m sorry,” Callum stammered as he looked up at La Roux.

“Don’t be,” she said, “he was an out and out bastard.”

Izzy stood and moved to La Roux’s side. “Let me see what I can do for your friend. It won’t be much, but I’ve got used to fixing people up over the years.” She turned back to the cluster of women, all of whom looked a little less afraid now. “Mary, bring me the medicine box from over yonder.” She looked back toward Callum and then knelt beside him. “Since finding this place, we’ve managed to stash some provisions here. Luckily, we have a little phenol, so I will be able to clean your wound thoroughly. It’ll hurt like bejesus, and I’ll have to do it often, but it’ll be the only way of slowing or stopping infection.”

Callum nodded grimly. “Do what you have to do.”

La Roux placed the handle of his knife in Callum’s mouth and then nodded for Izzy to begin cleaning his friend’s injured wrist. Izzy cuffed at her brow, and then began to swab Callum’s wound with the phenol and water solution. As she worked, Callum’s eyes grew wider with pain. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords on a violin bow, and sweat drenched his body. Mary dabbed at his head with a wet cloth, but it did little to sooth the young Ranger’s anguish.

La Roux paced back and forth as the women worked. He felt both anger and pity in equal measure. Anger for the men of camp Maxwell, and pity for his friend. Finally, Callum’s eyes rolled up into his head and his body went limp. La Roux stopped abruptly, and stared down at his motionless friend.

“Is he dead?” he asked nervously.

“No,” Izzy replied calmly. “Ya should just thank The Lord that he finally passed out. He’s tough right enough, but sometimes it’s better to listen to what your body is telling ya. I think he would’ve passed out a while back, but he was just too stubborn to.”

La Roux smiled and relaxed a little. “Ya just described young Wentworth perfectly … stubborn.”

The big Cajun watched on in silence as Izzy carefully cleaned, then bandaged Callum’s injured arm. He was amazed by how tender and proficient she was at the task. Clearly, this woman had tended to many injuries throughout the years, and some may have been every bit as horrendous as Callum’s.

He looked around the dimly lit cave and saw the other women were watching Izzy every bit as intently as he. They seemed to look as her in the same way children look at their mothers. He saw both admiration and trust written in their tired and pallid faces, and realized they would follow her anywhere she went. If he were to have any chance of saving these people, then he would have to make sure Izzy stayed both alive, and on his side. If he lost her, then the women would most likely abandon him and return to the camp and their former lives.

As bizarre as this realization seemed to him, he had seen it before. Terrified people often chose the devil they knew. Such things made no sense to him, but he knew fear was a terrible motivator that often took people down the worst possible course. Keeping these women out of the Maxwell men's’ hands meant a battle on two fronts. First, he must win their trust, then he would need to best the Maxwells. In all honesty, he did not know which battle would be harder.

“I think he’ll sleep through ‘til morning,” Izzy said as she wiped her hands on an old rag.

Her words broke the Cajun’s line of thought, and his gaze turned to her once more. She looked back at him, and for the first time he noticed how big and brown her eyes were. He instantly pictured her as a frightened doe, but in reality, he knew she was far stronger than some fragile deer. Whether she knew it or not, this woman had enough strength for all her group.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll get some shut eye too. Have one of the women keep watch at the opening, if they see anything, then wake me.”

Izzy nodded then stood and move to La Roux’s side. She grabbed the lapel of his heavy leather coat and pulled so his massive, bearded face came closer to hers. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then stepped back.

“Thank ya for all you’ve done,” she said as her eyes filled with tears.

“We ain’t out of the woods yet,” he replied as his hand went to his cheek. “I mean, we literally have to get out of these woods before we can breathe easy.”

She nodded. “I know this ain’t over yet, but I wanted to thank ya while I had a chance. Can I ask ya your first name? Calling you by your surname seems wrong somehow.”

La Roux grinned broadly. “My name’s Pierre, and I’d be right honored for you to use it.”

“Well, Pierre,” she said with a smile. “You get some rest and I’ll take first watch.”

With that, Izzy headed for the opening, and then disappeared off down the short tunnel that led to the outside world. La Roux watched her until she was completely out of sight, then he laid himself down and rested his head on his pack. He thought sleep might not come to him easily, but he was asleep within a minute.

Chapter 11

Callum shielded his face against the shaft of light stinging his still closed eyes. In the hours since his arrival at the cave, he had drifted in and out of sleep. The pain in his arm had woken him often, but once awake, he could turn his cold, stoic brain to the task of burying his pain.

Over the years, Callum had become extremely good at burying things that caused him discomfort. Whether the discomfort grew from physical pain or emotional upset, he had found a way of squashing the sensations equally well. He would simply visualize the thing causing him pain as a tangible object. Sometimes he would picture the sensation as a ball, other times he imagined it as a tool of some kind. Once his discomfort had taken on a form, he would pick it up and place the object in a mental lock-box. Once the newly created object was safely inside the box, he would lock it with a key made of pure will.

This technique worked well during his waking hours, but it let him down when he slept. His dreaming mind lacked the focus to keep the box locked, and as a result, everything it contained often came spilling out. This not only meant he often suffered extremely vivid nightmares, but also any physical pain the box held came pouring out as well. This had led to a fitful night of sleep, and an almost unbearable headache.

Callum splayed the fingers of the hand shielding his face and gradually opened one eye. The interminably bright ray of light seemed to be coming from a small hole in the cave’s roof. The hole seemed no larger than three or four inches across, but it seemed to be letting in an almost unbelievable amount of light. With a groan, he lowered his hand and accepted the inevitable.

Slowly, he opened both eyes to a squint, then blinked them wide. After a few seconds, the light seemed not quite so bright and he set about the task of boxing up his demons and his pain. After a minute or so of intense concentration, the pain in his wrist had reduced to a dull but continual thudding, and all memories of his lost loved ones had evaporated. He raised himself up on his elbows and looked around.

The woman who had tended his wound looked over at him and smiled. She approached and then checked his bandages.

“How ya feeling?” she asked as she laid his damaged wrist back down.

“I’ll be fine,” Callum said as he looked around the cave. “”Where’s La Roux?”

“He went out hunting. There’s plenty of game around here, so I don’t reckon he’ll be too long. I’m Izzy by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Callum replied as he got shakily to his feet.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’ve suffered an extremely bad injury and….”

Caused by both his discomfort, and her unwanted advice, an anger rose in his chest and he cut her off. “Well, yer not me, so….”

Callum looked at Izzy, and by the look on her face he realized he had spoken to her out of turn. He knew his cold manner often upset people, but he did not want to upset these women, and especially not the one who had tended him so kindly. The last thing any of them needed was an asshole barking at them.

He forced a smile and said, “I’m right sorry for speaking to you like that, but I assure ya I’ll be fine. Now, where are my weapons?”

“Over yonder.” She pointed to a pile of equipment in the corner of the cave, but did not return his smile.

He moved to the pile and pulled out his tomahawk. After placing it in the holster on his belt, he picked up his six-shooter and checked to see if it was loaded. He clumsily held the gun under the crook of his left arm—the one missing the hand—and with his right hand, he opened the revolving chamber. He checked each cartridge; replacing the spent ones with fresh rounds, then snapped it shut and holstered it.

“I’m going outside to take a look around.”

“Callum, I think you should wait ‘til Pierre gets back.”

“I thank ya for your concern, Izzy, but I think it’s best I take a look around.”

She nodded slowly and said, “Well, if ya say it’s for the best, then I guess ya have to do what your heart tells ya. But just to be on the safe side, let me send one of the girls with ya. Mary would ya do our Mr. Wentworth here the honor of keeping him company on his wanderings.” A young woman he remembered from the night before stood and moved to his side. “If he becomes tired or in need of help, then come and get me. Is that clear?”

“Clear as day, Izzy,” Mary replied as she eyed Callum thoughtfully.

Callum huffed, but did not say any more on the subject. Instead, he simply headed out the cave on his elbows and knees. After thirty seconds of scrabbling in the dirt, he pushed his way through the bush concealing the caves opening and stood in the bright daylight of an almost perfect morning’s light. He raised his face to the sun and took in a deep lung full of the fresh, dewy air. His head instantly began to swim and his knees felt as if they would buckle.

“Steady,” Mary said as she took his arm and guided him to a nearby rock. “Yer still weak and the fresh air can sometimes make a poorly person feel faint.”

Callum berated himself inwardly for his light headedness, and for not hearing Mary’s exit from the cave. Normally, he could hear a sparrow’s fart at a hundred yards, yet he had not heard her approach from mere feet away.

He sat on the rock and lowered his head. After a minute or so, his head stopped spinning and he looked up at the woman still holding his arm.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, and rose once more.

He stood a good four inches taller than the petite blonde holding his arm. He looked down at her and saw how pretty, but stern her face was. Despite the fact Izzy had dark hair and brown eyes, she bore a striking resemblance to the blue eyed blonde now helping to support him. Mary was clearly a Maxwell, and a close relation to both Izzy and Tilly.

“Is Izzy your kin?” he asked as he gently pulled his arm free of her grip.

Mary nodded. “She’s my cousin. Her Pa and my Pa are brothers.”

At that moment, a rustling of branches caught Callum’s attention and he spun on his heels to see what had caused the noise. La Roux ambled out of the undergrowth with a bush turkey in each hand, and a couple of rabbits slung over one shoulder. He looked up, and on seeing Callum, his face erupted into a grin.

“I didn’t expect to see ya up and about so soon. How’s the arm?”

Callum looked down at his mutilated wrist. On seeing the blood covered bandages that wrapped his stump, his mental fortitude momentarily wavered. Suddenly, a new and intense pain rushed him like a pack of attacking dogs. The pain was not only physical, but emotional too. He knew the Ranger Corps did not tolerate weakness of any kind, and what was weaker than a Ranger missing a hand? He now realized his life as a Ranger was all but over, which caused a wave of nausea to rise from his gut. The sensation threatened to consume him, so he closed his eyes and forced the bile and fear back down into his stomach where it belonged. He then quickly and systematically, stowed away both his worrisome doubts and his physical pain in one of the many mental boxes that lined the walls of his mind. Finally, he looked up at La Roux, and offered him a weak smile.

“It hurts, but I’ll make it. I see you’ve been busy.”

La Roux looked at the dead birds in his hands, then at the rabbits hung over his shoulder. “A man has to eat,” he said with a comical lick of the lips. “Are ya hungry?”

“Not particularly, but I’ll force something down.”

“I’m starving, and I know my kin are too,” Mary blurted uncontrollably.

Both men turned to look at her, and they saw that she seemed embarrassed by her outburst.

“Well I am, and so are they,” she said sheepishly. “Here give ‘em to me.” She approached La Roux and took his catches. “I’ll get one of the others to come out and help me clean ‘em. In a few hours we’ll all have full stomachs, which always makes things seem better. I know it’ll take more than a full stomach to get us out of this, but it’s a heck of a good place to start.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” La Roux said as he moved and sat on the rock beside Callum. He then looked at his friend intently and said, “We need to talk.”

Callum nodded. “I know we do. Firstly, how the hell are we going to take that camp?”

La Roux looked at the young Ranger in disbelief. “Callum, there’s no way in hell we can take that camp. The priority now is making sure all these women get out of here in one piece. You do realize we’ll be lucky to get out of these here mountains alive.” La Roux looked off thoughtfully toward the tree line. “Although, I have to say I’ve seen no signs of us being pursued. Last night I heard people and Lingerers hunting us, they seemed to be everywhere, but now the woods seem empty of everything but game. By now we should have the whole Maxwell clan after us, plus all the Lingerers they held at that camp.”

Puzzled, Callum looked at La Roux and asked, “What makes you think they’d release their Lingerers.”

“When I found ya, you were out cold. I had to fight off a whole bunch of undead before I could get ya out of there.”

“The undead you fought were most likely the ones that broke out of the pen after I cut off my hand. They most likely tracked me by the smell of my blood, but there’s nothing to suggest they’d release the rest. Lingerers aside, why haven’t they started looking for us yet?”

La Roux looked off into the undergrowth. “Good question, and it’s one I don’t have an answer to.”

“I know why.”

Both men looked toward the voice, and they saw Izzy stood by the bush that sheltered the mouth of the cave. Mary, along with the youngest looking girl of the group, stood at her side. Izzy turned to Mary and said, “While I have a yarn with our two new friends, you and Jess start on cleaning them there animals.”

Mary nodded and took Jess by the hand. She led the girl to the small pile of dead game, then they both crouched and started inspecting the animals.

Mary’s gaze then turned to the two Rangers. “I don’t suppose one of ya gentlemen could lend me something to skin these here varmints?”

La Roux pulled his knife from his belt and strolled over to the two. “It’s right sharp so watch how ya use it.”

Mary frowned at him. “Ya do realize I’ve skinned a rabbit or two in my time, and I managed to do it without losing a single finger.”

La Roux’s cheeks turned red beneath his beard. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to insult ya.”

Mary smiled. “Don’t assume all women are frail and helpless. Some of us can look after ourselves.”

He tugged at his hat, and nodded his understanding. He then turned to Izzy. “You say ya know why there’s no one tracking us yet. Why would ya know something like that?”

Izzy looked at Mary, and as if she had given some unspoken order, her two kin picked up the game and moved away. She waited for Mary and Jess to move out of earshot before she explained further.

Chapter 12

Izzy looked back at the cave for a moment, and then turned and moved to join Callum on the rock. La Roux followed her and hunkered near their feet.

“Your attack isn’t the first the camp has ever suffered.” Izzy began as she looked in the direction of her former imprisonment. “Since it was first built, the camp’s been attacked at least two or three times a year. Mostly the raiders were after just two things; women and food. Nearly all the raids failed before they ever got a chance to turn and run. The men of the camp would out gun, or out fight those who attacked, and then they would feed ‘em to the undead. Sometimes though, the raiders would get away with women, food and other supplies.” She shook her head slowly. “When that happened all hell would break loose.

“Pa soon learned that if you couldn’t catch the raiders—and more importantly the women they’d taken—in the first few minutes of the chase, then a different tactic was needed. Something more than just running into the woods blindly hoping to find those ya hunted. You see, as mad as my Pa is, he’s still a real smart man.”

Callum shifted position, and winced as a lightning bolt of pain shot up his arm. With a grimace that caught La Roux’s attention, he settled again and turned to Izzy. “It’s been hours since we escaped. Any chance of picking up our scent is all but gone. That is, unless he knows about this cave. No, I think our trail is well and truly cold, and I think he stands little chance of tracking us.”

“He won’t be tracking you, he’ll be tracking the women he’s lost.”

“What do you mean?” La Roux asked.

Izzy stood and moved to the edge of the small clearing. As if a sudden chill had settled on her, she wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. She then turned and looked back at the Rangers.

“He has Hunters for each of the women in that cave. Hunters who will never tire or give up.”

Callum stood and move to her side. “What do you mean?”

“Ya have to understand, my Pa is more of a monster than any Lingerer could ever be. The undead hunt and kill because something has taken away what makes them human, but my Pa kills because he’s crazy. He’s far worse than the undead, because he knows exactly what he’s doing … and worse of all, he enjoys it.”

Izzy slowly rolled up both her shirt sleeves to reveal her forearms. Each arm was covered in a tight latticework of scars, each no more than an inch in length. So tightly woven were the scars that barely any untouched flesh could be seen.

Callum moved closer and peered down at her arms. He grimaced and said, “I noticed scars like this on Tilly and Mary. What be they?”

“Every woman from camp Maxwell has them. My Pa made each and every one of these scars himself.”

“Why?” La Roux asked as he gently took her arms and examined them more closely.

“Pa values the women of the camp above all other things. We breed his young folk, and we pleasure his men. He would rather us dead than see anyone else have us, and that’s where these marks come in.

“He cuts each woman every couple of months or so, and then feeds the blood to a Lingerer on a piece of bread. He makes a big ceremony of it … kinda like the Catholics do. Only, it ain’t the blood of Christ he’s feeding to those things; it’s our blood. Each woman has her own Lingerer, he calls ‘em, ‘Hunters’.”

Callum’s jaw dropped and he simply stared at Izzy in disbelief. “But if ya ain’t cut or bleeding, then how can those things track you?”

She shrugged. “I truly have no idea, but they do. As soon as a girl becomes a woman, Pa will select one of the most aggressive undead he can find, and he’ll then move it to the Hunters’ compound. From there on in—except for the small amounts of our blood soaked bread—he never feeds it again.

“If one of the women is due a flogging, then he brings out her Hunter and chains it up just out of reach. With every lash of the whip, the thing gets more crazed by her blood. Often, the men have to beat it back to keep it from breaking loose and ripping her to bits. We’re all forced to watch as she screams for mercy.” Izzy’s shaking hand went to her pale face, and she wiped away a tear. “As the Hunter gets more and more inflamed by her blood, the man doing the flogging always increases the force behind each lash. It doesn’t stop ‘til the flesh on her back is nothing more than raw meat. It’s both terrible, and terrifying.”

“Jesus,” Callum breathed.

Izzy nodded. “And that’s not the worst of it. If a woman really gives him cause to punish her, then he might cut off a finger or a toe, sometimes even a hand, and he’ll feed it to the Hunter too. He’ll make the woman watch as her Hunter eats part of her own body. I’m telling ya, once those things get a taste of your blood, they’ll follow ya to the ends of the Earth. The thought of being chased down by one of those things is more terrifying than watching it eat part of ya.”

Callum placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yer talking as if you know the fear first hand.”

Izzy bent and pulled off her left boot, to reveal three of her five toes were missing. She then turned and pulled up her shirt. Her back bore more scars than Callum’s own, and they were more tightly laced. It almost looked as if the scars were the result of flames rather than a whip. Her whole back appeared to be one massive scar, which looked hard and knotted.

La Roux made a retching noise, and vomited in the dirt. After two more dry retches, he cuffed his mouth clean, and then uttered, “Sweet Jesus. And that man is supposed to be your pa, and this is how he treats ya! God damn if that don’t make me want to rip off his head with my own two hands!”

Callum moved forward and gently lowered Izzy’s shirt. “I still don’t understand how the Hunters can track you if ya not bleeding. I’ve seen those things track the scent of blood, but never the scent of an uninjured person.”

“I’ve seen it before,” La Roux said as he settled on the edge of a rock. “Back before ya joined our unit, we had a rookie called O’Toole. Anyhow, we were on a mission to flush out about thirty Lingerers from the basement of a church. As the undead weren’t biters, everything went pretty much to plan. We led ‘em out of the building, but there weren’t enough wagons to take ‘em all at once, so we were left with four to watch over ‘til the wagons got back.

“We tied them up and set about fixing some grub. Well that fool O’Toole cut himself as he peeled the potatoes, and it sent the undead we was watching into a frenzy. They were tied, so we weren’t too concerned. I told O’Toole it was his fault they’d got ornery, so he had to take care of ‘em. Well, he shot the first three straight between the eyes, but with the last one—which by the way was making the most noise—he took off his bloody glove and shoved it in its mouth. I guess he was trying to look tough in front of us, but ya know how strong those things can be when they taste blood.”

Callum held up his stump. “I sure do.”

La Roux patted his friend on the back, and then continued. “Well, of course the thing broke loose of its ropes and it went for him. O’Toole panicked, dropped his gun and fell to the ground. I ran over and I managed to pull him free of the thing. Once he was clear, I belted the Lingerer in the face with the butt of my rifle. I damn near caved half its head in, and it fell to the ground. It looked deader than a rock, so I turned back to O’Toole and gave him a piece of my mind. He just sat there with his head hung, and took everything I threw at him. Back then, we still used to bury the undead, not burn ‘em. As part of his punishment for being a fool, I made O’Toole dig all four graves and then deal with the undead on his own. Sure enough, he buried all four.

“Six months went by, and we were some twenty miles from that there church when O’Toole met his end. Ya see, I may have caved that things face in, but I sure didn’t mash its brains up good enough.

“We were sleeping and O’Toole had watch. Next thing I know, he’s screaming, and we’re waking like God himself is calling to us. I find O’Toole with half his guts torn out, and the Lingerer with the mashed in face is feeding on him. That thing dun dug itself out of a grave, then found O’Toole some twenty miles from where we’d left it. And all because it got the taste of that fools blood.”

Callum shook his head. “Why have ya never told me that before?”

La Roux just shrugged and said, “Boy, if I told ya every gruesome thing I’ve seen, then we’d never sleep at night.”

“True,” Callum agreed as he looked back at Izzy. “But it still don’t explain why your pa ain’t marching his way up here right now.”

“Pa’s a showman. He likes to make everything bigger than it needs to be, so he always starts the hunt at noon. All the men head to the Hunters’ pens to watch ‘em being released. They keep a fair ways back, but they follow those monsters ‘til they find their prey. Then they watch as the Hunter rips the woman apart. Normally, there’s only one Hunter … today I think he’ll release all fifteen.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before,” La Roux growled as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.

“We—I mean my women kinfolk and me—needed rest before we ran. Plus, Callum was hurt and he needed some fixing up. No way could we have moved ‘til day break at the earliest.”

“She’s right,” Callum said as he placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

“Well, right or not, we have a little under five hours ‘til he lets loose his undead hounds. Tell Mary the food will have to wait, we have to run now.”

Izzy took La Roux’s big hand in hers. “But they’re starving, Pierre. They won’t make it more than a few miles without food. We all think we’re going to meet our end, at least let us do it with full bellies.”

“Again, she’s right,” Callum said as he looked back toward camp Maxwell. “Izzy, where does your pa keep these Hunters?”

She turned and looked in the same direction as Callum, she then pointed to his left. “See those rocks?”

“Yep.”

“Well they’re about two miles from the camp, the Hunters are there.”

Callum then turned to her. “Why didn’t your pa use the Hunters to find your sisters, Tilly and Alice?”

“Alice were with child and Pa wanted the babe. If he sent out their Hunters, they would’ve ate ‘em.”

Callum nodded and turned back to look at where the Hunters were kept. “I think we need to take those undead out, and we have less than five hours to do it.”

La Roux moved to his side. “I don’t know what it is yer thinking, but yer in no shape for a fight.”

Callum looked at his friend and smiled solemnly. “Whether I’m in shape for a fight or not really doesn’t matter. What matters now is keeping the Hunters off the women.”

“And ya think we can do that?” La Roux said as he followed Callum’s gaze.

“Maybe, maybe not, but we have to try. First things first, let’s get that food cooked and the women fed.”

Chapter 13

Jacob Maxwell stared up at the mountain above him, and pictured his daughter—as well as the rest of his women—cowering in a hole somewhere. He had to admit, the sensation brought him a certain amount of satisfaction.

His hands went to the wide expanse of his stomach, and he caressed it in much the same way as a pregnant woman might caress her own child-filled abdomen. His girth however was the result of living to excess, while others around him starved. He knew others in his group went hungry while he gorged, but the knowledge of their discomfort brought him neither pain nor pleasure.

As far as he was concerned, all of mankind was doomed. So if his people starved, then all the better. Besides, as the voice of God, he had earned the right to eat and drink as he pleased. God had made it abundantly clear to him that he was to be his mouth piece on Earth, and as such, he could enjoy all the world’s bounties without fear of retribution. So with God’s blessing, he indulged in all the pleasures afforded to him. He enjoyed sex with his women, and he also found great pleasure in the pain he inflicted, but above all things, he enjoyed his food.

His mind then turned to the heathens who had taken his most precious of treasures, and his sense of satisfaction evaporated in an instant. Now a sense of rage and injustice started to seep into every fiber of his being. How dare the godless of the outside world invade the sanctity of his camp. How dare they take that which is not theirs to take. God spoke through him and The Lord told him to punish those who defied his will. The women defied him daily, so he would punish them, as would he punish those who had taken them.

The women, it always came down to the God damned women! It was indeed true that God had cursed every member of the gentler sex. Ever since Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit, God had cursed them for their sins. He punished them each month with bleeding loins and cramping stomachs. However, Jacob knew that the Devil tried to protect women, and by doing so, turn them to his dark and evil ways.

The Devil made their breasts large and their hips inviting. Worst of all, the Devil had given women a fruit every bit as sweet as that of Eden’s. He himself found the sweetness of their loins too hard to resist. He punished himself for his failings by destroying the offspring his weaknesses had created. This was why God had created the Lingering, to punish those whom deserved to be punished. The undead were the tools by which God would bring on the End of Days, and he, Jacob Maxwell, was yet another of The Lord’s tools.

He turned and looked at the pens holding his Hunters, and smiled. The pens held eighteen of the creatures, but he would only need fifteen of them for his hunt. The remaining three were the Hunters for his two daughters, Tilly and Alice, but he had his son, Junior, taking care of them. The final Hunter belonged to Jane, his niece, but she had died in child birth two weeks earlier, so her Hunter would be of no use. He then made a mental note to return Jane’s Hunter back into the general population of Lingerers back at the camp.

Junior, he thought, why haven’t I heard back from him? It’s been days since he went out looking for those two ungrateful whores. He should’ve been back with the child by now. He then wondered if the heathens who had taken the women might have something to do with his son’s late return. He shook his head. Junior was far too clever to be caught by such people as mere raiders. No, more than likely the two he chased were just playing hard to catch.

Mind, it was a pity Junior would miss the hunt. His son did so enjoy watching those who ran being ripped to bits. It was a pleasure that he too enjoyed. The thrill of the hunt, and the subsequent kill, always managed to exhilarate all concerned … well, not quite all. He felt sure the women were not exhilarated by their imminent deaths. A smile traced his lips as he pictured his daughter, Izzy, being disemboweled.

Feeling satisfied with himself, Jacob looked up at the sky and guessed he still had around three hours until noon. He smiled an almost toothless grin through his thick, gray beard, and drew strength from the thought of unleashing his Hunters on his disgusting women folk. He shook his head and reflected on the disappointment his whores had brought him. Of course, he knew they would need to find new women with which to breed, but he could see no real difficulties in finding replacements for those soon to die. He and the rest of his men would simply do to others, what others had done to them. They would simply raid camps and take the women they needed, and all in the knowledge they had God’s blessing.

Jacob left his caged Hunters, and casually strolled back toward his waiting men. He opened his arms in a wide and welcoming gesture as he entered the clearing a few hundred yards from his bloodthirsty monsters.

“Brothers, sons … friends,” he said as he smiled and looked at each of the heavily armed men individually. “Soon we will rain our vengeance upon those who have done nothing but shown us contempt. The whores and harlots shunned our teaching words and gestures, for this, they are about to pay. Soon the daughters of Jezebel, the thorns in our sides, shall meet with their Hunters and they will truly feel the wrath of God. For they are the forsaken, and as such, it is our duty to rid the world of ‘em!”

The assembled men began to mumble their agreement, and a few started to wave their guns above their heads. Many of the filth covered gathering resembled Jacob in both build and looks. Near all were his kin, but those that were not, were still treated like blood. Whether Maxwell blood ran through the men’s veins really did not matter to Jacob. What mattered to him was that they would blindly follow his every command.

“Now, we must offer up prayers to The Lord. Bow your heads.” Jacob waited until every last man’s head was bowed, and then he began his prayer. “Lord, guide our Hunters toward their prey so that they might deliver your justice. Guide our hands and our eyes so that our shots are true. Lord, watch over us—your righteous and true followers—and help us smite those who ya wish smitten. We are your servants, and we love ya, Lord, but we are but men among heathens and the fallen. We are weak, but we take strength knowing we do your bidding. Lord, we will never stray from the path ya have seen fit to show me. We are yours, now and always. Amen.”

The gathered men let out a low, almost guttural singular word. “Amen.”

Slowly, the group began to move toward the Hunters’ pens, and a young, lean and clean faced man moved toward Jacob.

“Pa Maxwell,” the man said as he drew to his leader’s side.

Jacob looked the man in the eye and beamed his most beguiling—all be it an almost toothless—smile. “Ah, Matt, did ya enjoy our prayer?”

Matthew Maxwell, Jacob’s youngest nephew, nodded and then cleared his throat. “Pa Maxwell, do we really need to send the Hunters out after the women? Couldn’t we just try and round ‘em up ourselves?”

Jacob noticed that a number of the men leaving the clearing had stopped to listen to their exchange.

“Yer just like your father … far too forgiving. No, the women allowed themselves to be taken, and therefore they are as guilty as the raiders for their crimes.”

As if looking for encouragement, Matt looked toward the dozen or so men who had stopped to listen. He straightened, and looked back at Jacob.

“Well, a few of us don’t see it quite like that. We reckon the women are our kin, so we should rescue ‘em from the raiders, not kill them.”

Jacob exaggerated a nod, and said, “So that’s what some of you think … interesting. Don’t it matter to ya that God has told me different.”

Matt began to move nervously on the spot. “Er … well….”

Jacob placed one of his beefy hands on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know your sister is one of the women we hunt, but she is a sinner, and deserves to die.”

“Well … I’m not sure….”

“Ya don’t have to be sure, because I am,” Jacob said as he led Mathew toward the Hunters’ pens. “I’m sure because I hear the voice of God. Mathew does God speak to ya?”

Matt looked over his shoulder and saw the small group of men who had been listening to the exchange. They were now following them to the pens, but they still seemed to be listening. He looked back to his uncle. “Well … well no, but….”

“I didn’t think so. So what gives ya the right to question the voice of God?”

“Pa Maxwell, I’m not trying to….”

“Oh but ya are. Every time ya question me, ya question God, and that’s a mortal sin.”

The two now stood before the pen that housed the Hunter for Jane, Jacob’s dead niece and one of Matthew’s dead sisters. “This creature was kept in case your poor sister Jane ever decided to run. She’s with Satan now, so this here creature is no longer needed as a Hunter. He looks mighty hungry, don’t he.” Matt tried to pull away, but Jacob’s grip on him tightened. He pulled his nephew closer and then whispered in his ear. “But he ain’t going to be hungry for long.”

In one quick move—a move that surely should have been too quick for someone so old and fat—Jacob pulled his knife and plunged it into his nephews gut. As Matthew screamed with pain, Jacob hauled his thrashing nephew above his head, and then threw him into the pen with the Hunter. Now the growls and howls of the Hunter joined Matthew’s screams, but soon all that could be heard was the sound of ripping flesh and the slurping down of warm intestines.

Jacob turned and eyed the men watching him. “Do any more of ya question my authority, or the fact that I speak for God!”

No one moved, or spoke. Jacob stood staring at them a few moments longer, and then started walking off.

“Good, now begin the preparations for the hunt. We release the Hunters at midday, and I don’t want their release hindered because some fool forgot to do their job.”

A smile lit his face as Jacob moved back into the clearing where he had just held his impromptu service. Matthew had always been weak, and feeding him to the undead seemed a fit ending for someone such as he.

Chapter 14

Callum and La Roux sat back and watched as the women ate. It had taken almost twenty minutes to move the group out of the cave, and then another hour and a half to prepare and cook all the meat. Time that both Rangers knew they could ill afford, but time they both knew they had no choice but to spare.

All the women looked as if they had not eaten in days, and all tore into the meat like halved starved animals. In spite of both La Roux’s and Callum’s hunger, they just could not find it within themselves to take any of the food. Depriving even one of them of just a mouthful would feel like they had assaulted the women themselves. Besides, all Rangers were well used to coping with discomforts like hunger. A few days without food was nothing to what either Callum or La Roux could endure.

Callum’s gaze turned to the eight pregnant women sat at the center of the group. The others fussed around them and made sure they got more than their fair share of the food. He could tell the ragtag group was held together by both love and loyalty, which was something he understood well. While love had deserted him at a very young age, loyalty was still one of the biggest driving factors in his life. He would rather die than let down La Roux or any other of his Ranger kin. He saw the same determination in the eyes of the women now doting over their pregnant companions. It was true that they all looked scared, but through the fear he could still see strength.

These women had gone through more trials of torture than anyone he had ever encountered before, and yet they still managed to show each other compassion. How could they do that? How could such damaged individuals still remain so human, so loving? The part of him that could show compassion still worked, but only barely. The only reason he did the things he did was out of a deep seated sense of right and wrong. Rarely did he ever feel pity or compassion for those he saved or punished.

He did what he did because it was his job, and it had to be done. Yet, on watching how these poor beaten souls treated each other, he could finally sense what compassion was. It was putting others before one’s self, which was something he had done for many years. Had he shown compassion without knowing it? Maybe, but what mattered now was making sure these poor unfortunates did not die a hideous death, and that meant stopping the Hunters that would soon be heading their way.

Callum winced as the pounding in his wrist grew momentarily intense, but his strong will soon pulled the pain back into line. A new burning sensation had joined the throb, and he knew all too well what this meant. His sudden discomfort reminded him of how unlikely it was that he would survive the next few hours.

Rangers’ lives were dangerous ones, even when they were at the peak of their physical fitness. Even the slightest injury normally resulted in death, either through infection or the inability to fight. His injury took things to a whole new level. He was missing a hand, which meant reloading his weapons quickly was out of the question. Also, hand-to-hand combat had just increased in difficulty by an immeasurable amount. On top of all this, the burning in his wrist told him the start of an infection was rearing its head. No, he felt sure that he would soon be dead, but this knowledge would not turn him from his duty.

He sighed and forced all his concerns out of his head. Whatever would be, would be and no amount of worrying would change things one iota. He would simply do what he always did, and fight until one of two things happened. Either he would survive, or he would die. As long as he kept fighting until the very end, either would be fine by him.

“Hey.”

Callum turned to see La Roux looking at him.

“I think we should check our gear and talk about how the heck we’re going to stop those things that are heading our way,” La Roux said as he got to his feet with a groan. “I’ll get all the stuff from the cave and then I’ll meet ya over at the edge of the clearing. I think we should keep this talk to ourselves. After all, there’s no need for the women to hear us talking about the Hunters, it’ll only upset ‘em.”

Callum watched as La Roux headed back to the cave and then forced his massive frame through its tiny opening. He looked back at the women and saw Izzy staring back at him. He got the feeling that she wanted in on their plans, and as far as he was concerned, she would be more than welcome to join them. He felt she was more than capable of looking after herself, but he thought La Roux would be harder to convince. La Roux saw all the women as his wards, and as such, Callum knew the big Cajun would want them all kept well out of harm’s way.

Callum gestured for her to come over, which she duly did.

“What’s Pierre doing?”

Callum smiled. La Roux hated people using his first name, but for some reason he allowed Izzy to use it. Did the big lug sport somewhat of a flame for Izzy?

“He’s getting our gear. We’re heading out soon, and I get the feeling ya want in on what we’re going to do.”

Izzy placed her hands on her hips and nodded vehemently. “Damn right I do! Ya ain’t in no shape to fight, so ya need all the help ya can get.”

“Calm down,” Callum replied placatingly. “It ain’t me we need to convince. Can ya shoot?”

“Course I can.”

“Well, that’s something in our favor. I think ya should come with us, but I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Izzy laughed. “I ain’t been safe since I came of age. I want the chance to help end all this, and I’ll do what it takes to make it happen.”

“Good enough for me. Now help me up.”

Callum offered her his hand and she pulled him to his feet.

“Izzy, what are you doing here?”

Callum turned and saw La Roux heading his way with a backpack in either hand. The Cajun looked both confused and angry. Callum went to speak in her defense, but Izzy beat him to the punch.

“I’m here for the same reason you and Callum are. I want to stop the Hunters from reaching my kin, but more importantly, I want to bring down my Pa.”

“Fighting undead ain’t no place for a woman!”

Callum took a step back as Izzy’s face turned red with anger and indignation. For the first time in a long time, Callum felt sure his friend was about to lose a fight.

“Really, a woman can’t fight every bit as good as a man! Is that what ya think! Cos if it is, you and me are about to butt heads!”

La Roux dropped the packs and held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Now that ain’t what I meant and ya know it.”

“It sounded like that to me,” Callum interjected as he took another step back.

La Roux shot his friend an annoyed glare, then looked back to Izzy. “What I meant was ya are in almost as bad a shape as that idiot over there. Yer not up to it.”

“Isn’t that my decision to make? Besides, I’m going to stick close to Callum….”

“You are … why?” Callum asked as he stepped closer again.

“Yer missing a hand ya great lummox, and your injury has hardly had but a moment to heal. You need me cos without me ya won’t be able to reload your weapons. I can do two things to help. I can reload your guns and I can watch your back.”

“That does make sense,” La Roux said as his hand went to his shaggy beard. “Can ya shoot?”

Izzy’s tempered had abated some, but La Roux’s question inflamed it again. “What is it with you two! Of course I can goddamn shoot!”

“La Roux raised his hands again. “Alright, alright … I was only asking.”

“Well the two of ya need to stop asking stupid questions, and start asking smart ones instead: like how are we going to stop the Hunters. There’s only a few hours left ‘til Pa releases ‘em.”

“Again, she has a point,” Callum said as he moved to La Roux’s side and crouched to examine his gear. “We need to think about how we’re going to head those things off.”

“Well, they’ll only be fifteen Hunters, so if we position ourselves well, we should be able to cut ‘em down in a hail of crossfire,” La Roux said as he too bent to check his gear. “Once they catch their prey’s scent, Lingerers always move in a straight line, so their approach will be easy to predict. I say we find a spot on the most direct route, and just wait for ‘em to come to us.”

“I agree, but we’ll need to make the ambush point a fair distance from here.”

“Why?” Izzy asked as she listened to the Rangers’ exchange. “Why not just set up the ambush here?”

Callum stood and said, “If any of the Hunters break through our line, then we’ll need time to run ‘em down. If they’re too close to here, then all the fighting will be too near the people we’re trying to protect.”

La Roux stood too and added his agreement. “Also, your pa and his men won’t be far behind. Hopefully they still don’t know about this cave, so if all else fails, we can try and steer ‘em away from here.”

Izzy nodded thoughtfully. “Well, there’s a small hollow about three miles from here. It’s directly in the path of the Hunters, so it could be a good place to setup your ambush.”

“Sounds good. Go tell the others that once they’re done eating, they have to move back inside the cave. Tell ‘em to block the entrance with rocks and whatever else they can find. No one but us is allowed in.” He bent and picked up his rifle, he then threw it to her. “Give ‘em this, and tell them to blow the head off any one else but us. There’s more ammo in my pack, take that too.”

Izzy bent and pulled two boxes of cartridges from Callum’s pack.

“Wait, give ‘em this as well.” Callum awkwardly pulled the six-shooter holstered on his left side. “No point me having it, not seeing I only have one good shooting hand.”

“No, you keep that,” La Roux said as he pulled his pump-action from his back. “Izzy can be reloading one gun while you use the other. Give ‘em this instead.”

“What does that leave me?” she asked as she took the gun from La Roux.

“I still have my rifle,” La Roux said as he eyed the pump-action longingly. “You can have that. I’ll make do with my sidearms. Now, let’s get all this sorted so we can move out.”

Izzy ran back to her kin with the guns and ammo. Callum waited until she was out of ear shot before he spoke again.

“You know the Hunters will be the least of our worries.”

“I know,” La Roux said thoughtfully.

“We’re going to have a whole mess of angry and well-armed men bearing down on us mere minutes after we deal with the undead. Lingerers are predictable, people ain’t. I don’t think we’ll be able to stop thirty or forty ornery mountain men.”

“Nor do I,” La Roux said with a sigh. “But we can give ‘em a hell of a fight.”

“As we head down the mountain, I think we should get Izzy to describe her pa to us in detail. I know Tilly described him to us, but it can’t hurt for Izzy to refresh our recollection,” Callum said as he tried to holster his pistol. However, without his left hand, he found it difficult pulling his heavy leather coat out of the way of his belt. “If we kill him, then maybe the others will just turn tail and run.”

“Good idea,” La Roux said as he stepped closer to Callum and helped his friend to holster his weapon. “Callum, I just want you to know it’s been an honor serving with ya.”

Callum stared up at the Cajun’s large face and he saw a man who thought he was going to die. “The honor has been mine, but let’s not talk like we’re already dead. We’ve got out of tight spots before, this may be just another one.”

La Roux nodded and then looked toward the women. “I hate the thought of those ladies returning to that camp, so I’m going to do all I can to stop that happening.”

“Good to hear. Now sling that pack on my back, and tell Izzy it’s time to go.”

La Roux lifted the heavy pack from the ground, and then helped as Callum threaded his arms through its straps. The Cajun then shouldered his own, and headed toward Izzy and her kin. Callum watched as his friend whispered in Izzy’s ear, and he suddenly felt at peace. If today would be the day he died, then at least he would have good people at his side.

Chapter 15

Jacob drank deeply from the whiskey bottle, and then passed it to the man beside him. One by one, each of the thirty men gathered there took a mouthful of the liquor, and then pressed their foreheads to Jacob’s outstretched hand. As soon as the last of the men had paid homage to him, Jacob turned and climbed the ladder to the roof of the Hunters pens.

As if sensing they were about to taste blood, the Hunters began to howl and bay. Several threw themselves at their gates, but the sturdy construction of the pens made their escape impossible. The only way the Hunters would taste both blood and freedom, was at Jacob’s bidding. Once Jacob had ascended the ladder, he turned and looked out at the mountainous terrain surrounding the pens.

The Appalachian Mountains were a hard place to live, but they offered him something more precious than ease of living. They offered him the isolation he needed to carry out God’s work. It was true, that from time to time outsiders caused him minor problems, but the isolated nature of the mountains meant he could always take care of things without fear of retribution from the rest of society.

Society. What did that word really mean? To Jacob it meant heathenness excess and interference from the godless. It meant not being able to accept God’s judgment of man. God had made it abundantly clear that the End of Days was nigh, but society did not want to accept God’s will. Instead, they took the tools—which God had placed on Earth to bring about the End of Days—and shipped them off to a country no better than hell itself.

The Lingerers were the hand of God, and society had slapped that hand away. Only he, Jacob Maxwell, seemed to know the truth of God’s bidding, and he embraced the undead for what they were. God had turned every newly dead corpse on Earth into angels of death, and as angels, Jacob saw their exquisite beauty. He did not see their rotting flesh or protruding bones, he only saw the miracle of God’s infinite wisdom.

As a sense of serenity washed over him, Jacob beckoned for his loyal brethren to join him on the roof. When the last of the men reached him, the ladder was pulled up, thus stopping the Hunters from reaching them. Jacob nodded his approval and then turned his mind to what was to come. First, he would give his sermon, then the hunt would begin.

“Men, whether through blood, or through loyalty of heart, yer all my kin and I love ya as God loves us all.”

A murmuring of appreciation passed through the group, then they hushed again. Even the Hunters below had fallen silent.

“Today, we do God’s work, for he has asked us to administer his justice. Let us not blame just our women for the evils of the past day, for they are but Satan’s toys. No, there are others who must carry the burden of their sin. Others who have defiled and murdered. Others who have evil in their hearts and in their very souls. OTHERS who seek to undermine God’s will. OTHERS who wish nothing more than to have a living hell right here on God’s green Earth!”

The men surrounding Jacob began to nod, and shout their Amens. But Jacob held up his hands and the group quickly settled.

“Now as ya know, I am a loving and caring man, but today we must put love to one side. Today we must be like hammers on stone. I know the men who took our women are being guided by Satan’s hand. I know they do not realize their immortal souls will forever burn in the fiery pits of hell. The time for forgiveness and conversion has passed for ‘em. They are beyond redemption. First, our Hunters will pass judgment on our God forsaken women, but then WE will pass judgment on those who took ‘em.”

The men began to clap and cheer, and Jacob allowed them a few moments of adulation.

“Once we have our Hunters back under control, then we will become the hunters. We will find the men who started this terrible turn of events, and we will make ‘em pay. We will find every last one of ‘em, and then we will hang ‘em high. We will flay the skin from their bones, and we will feed their flesh to the Hunters as those being punished watch. Once there is nothing left of them but gristle, we will leave them to change into the undead. Once changed they too will serve God. As Lingerers, they will feel the hand of God working through ‘em. Only then will there be any hope for their immortal souls.

“Now the time for preaching is over. Now is the time for action! Release the Hunters!”

Two large men moved to each front corner of the roof and picked up a rope that lay near the edge. One shouted a command, and both started heaving on the ropes. Slowly, the thick beams barring the Hunter’s gates began to rise. With the movement of the beam, the creatures almost instantly started charging the gates of their pens. Cracking of both bone and wood could clearly be heard above the howls of the caged up monsters.

“Faster you fools!” Jacob cried as he pictured the damage his precious Hunters were sustaining.

Two more men ran to help with the pulling up of the beam, and a few moments later, the monsters were free.

The Hunters burst from their pens and halted in the clearing that surrounded their terrible home. Several of the creatures peered up at the men on the roof, but the rest seemed intent on sniffing the air and pacing to-and-fro. Suddenly, a large Hunter—with the best part of its guts torn open—howled and bolted for the woods. The others started to follow and the pack of hideous creatures tore off at an incredible speed.

“Look at them there things go,” one of the men said as he stepped closer to the edge.

A shingle beneath his foot broke, and he found himself hurtling toward the dirt below. He bellowed with pain as his leg snapped under the weight of the impact. Several of the group moved to lower the ladder, but Jacob shouted for them to stop.

“He’s in God’s hands now,” Jacob said as he peered down at his wounded brother, Jonah. “You always were the clumsy one of the family. Maybe this is God’s way of teaching ya to be more careful.”

Jonah looked over his shoulder toward the departing Hunters. The two that had peered up at them had stopped in their tracks, and now stared hungrily back at him. His terrified eyes turned back to his older brother, but Jacob merely smiled down at him.

“Please, Jacob, help me.”

Jacob shook his head. “No, any killing that happens today is God’s will.”

Before Jonah could utter so much as a sound, the Hunters were on him. One latched itself to his throat and started thrashing around like a gator killing a pig. The other went straight for Jonah’s midsection, and within seconds, it had his intestines wrapped around its head. Jonah tried to scream, but death took him before a sound left his lips.

The crowd of men above stood enthralled by the spectacle below. Blood lust was just as intoxicating whether the victim was male or female. They watched in a reverent silence as the Hunters tore Jonah limb from limb. Then, as quickly as the attack had started, it ended. The two Hunters rose slowly to their feet, and then looked in the direction the other Hunters had taken. A moment later, they charged off in hunt of the women they had been conditioned to seek.

“Give ‘em a couple of minutes,” Jacob said as he mopped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. “Then we’ll lower the ladder and follow. Let what just happened be a warning to ya all. Never get too close to a Hunter, not unless you can chain it.”

Soon, the men were running off after the Hunters, and in spite of Jacob’s considerable size, he led the chase with all the speed of a much younger and fitter man.

Chapter 16

Izzy led Callum and La Roux into the hollow where they would make their stand. La Roux pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. They had a little under an hour until noon, which meant they had very little time to setup their ambush. The Cajun swung his pack from his back and dropped it at his feet. He then pulled out a spool of thin wire and handed it to Izzy.

“I want ya to string this between the trees at around waist height.”

“Why waist height? Why not head height?”

Callum shrugged off his pack and answered for La Roux. “Lingerers move fast and low when they attack. If ya string the wire too high, then they’ll just run straight under it. Stringing it at waist height makes contact more likely. With luck, the wire will cut a few in half before it breaks, we can then take them out after the assault is over.”

Izzy grimaced and said, “You boys have done this before.”

“It sure ain’t our first dance,” La Roux said as he stood and examined the hollow. He then pointed to his left and said, “I’ll help Callum setup his gear over there. You join him when yer done. I’ll setup opposite his location, that way we can catch whoever enters this position in a crossfire. Izzy, if ya start shooting, it’s vital that ya keep your fire away from my position. Is that clear?”

Izzy nodded. “Sure, but ya really didn’t need to point out the obvious.”

“You’d be surprised how many Rangers have died in friendly crossfire,” Callum said as he picked up his pack and moved to the location that would conceal him from the soon to arrive Hunters. “People panic in the heat of battle and it’s easy to make stupid mistakes.”

“That’s right,” La Roux said as he followed Callum. “What seems obvious now soon gets forgot when bullets fly. If ya become disorientated about where I am, then stop shooting and let Callum do it all. Besides, it’s more important to keep his six-shooters full. Only use your gun if ya have to.”

Izzy nodded and then headed off to setup the wire.

“How do ya think she’s going to do?” La Roux asked as he started laying out Callum’s ammunition.

“She’ll do just fine.” Callum then looked his friend in the eye and said, “La Roux, I’m not going to be as fast as normal. If things go south, I want ya to leave me. It’s more important to keep the women alive than it is for me to get out of this.”

La Roux grinned. “Kid, even on your worse day, yer still better than any other Ranger I’ve ever fought with. If ya don’t get out of this, then none of us do. Now make sure all your gear is ready, cos I’m heading off to get dug in.”

Callum watched as his big friend ambled off, but he felt as if La Roux had too much faith in his skills. Callum knew he was good, but was he good enough? Only time would tell.

* * *

La Roux checked his revolvers for a third time and then sat back against the rock behind which he hid. His stomach let out an annoyed rumble, which he tried to quell with his last piece of beef jerky. He had been saving the small piece of dried meat for an emergency, but he figured he would be lucky to live beyond the next few hours, so what the hell. As he chewed on the all but tasteless piece of leathery meat, he began to think of home and of those he had left behind.

He rarely thought of life before the Rangers, and when he did, it always filled him with fleeting feelings of regret. His life was a full and productive one, but at times, he felt like he had sacrificed an awful lot to become a Ranger. Things like having a family, a home, and a woman to love. He knew his regret only reared its ugly head because of the imminent battle, and his possible death. He always put the feelings down to pre-battle nerves, and normally swept them quickly away. But for some reason, this time the regrets felt just that little more real. Its teeth were sharper and the pain the regret caused stung a little more than usual.

His mind turned to Izzy and the regret hit a new height. He knew having a relationship with any woman was out of the question, let alone one he had rescued. The thought of approaching her and telling her how much he admired her made him feel like a rapist. She—along with all the women under his temporary care—were vulnerable and had been treated appallingly by men. If he told her how he felt, she might just accept his advances out of pure fear. The thought of telling her he liked her, would be like taking advantage of someone too weak to defend themselves.

No, Rangers were doomed to a life of solitude, or at least they were while still in the service. He did know of Rangers who had married once they had left the Corps, but their numbers were few and far between. Even after leaving the service, most Rangers remained unhitched. It was as if a solitary life had become so deeply ingrained in their makeup, they simply could not find any way of forming bonds with a woman, or anyone else.

The thought of never meeting or marrying a woman made La Roux feel quite unsettled. Dying on the battle field, or at the hands of Lingerers never scared him. Dying alone did. The thought of never having a son to carry on his name suddenly felt like the most terrible thing in the world, and he struggled to contain his emotions at the thought.

He needed to clear all these maudlin ramblings from his head, otherwise, he would be no good for what lay ahead. La Roux closed his eyes and pictured all those who had died at his side. He pictured the face of every Ranger who had died at the teeth of the undead, and his warrior’s heart returned. When he opened his eyes again, his thoughts had turned to nothing but carnage, and the killing to come.

* * *

Izzy quickly tied one end of the wire to a tree, and then started feeding the rest out as she backed her way to the next one. As she wrapped the wire around the second tree, she thought of her dead sister, Alice, and the horrors she had suffered at her own brother’s hands. She despised how readily her male kin had fallen under her pa’s insane spell, but her brother had been the most brutal of them all. He had accepted every vile word her pa spewed, and he was always the first in line to administer any punishments that pa wanted administered. No matter how hard she tried, she could not understand why the men—but especially her brothers, and Jacob Junior in particular—had so easily slipped into the barbarity of life in the Maxwell camp. Were all men so easily swayed?

She knew this could not be true because of La Roux and Callum. They were the antithesis of her male kin. They were kind, caring and would die rather than see harm befall the women they now protected. This left her with only one option. Every male in her family had the propensity for insanity.

The Maxwells had always been close knit, and maybe that had something to do with the men’s evil ways. It was possible that years and years of cousins marrying cousins had effected the males of her blood line. She shook her head with disgust at the thought of the men’s insanity, and then tied off the wire to the second tree. With both her heart and mind saddened by the evils of her family, she moved to the next tree and began her work again.

She hated her family for what they had done to her women kinfolk, but most of all she hated her pa. If not for him, the men would have never gone down the path of rape, murder, and brutality. Her mother’s death had triggered her pa’s madness, but it was he who had turned his madness into something contagious. His insanity was every bit as virulent as the Lingering, and he had done everything in his power to make sure it spread.

At first, his sermons had seemed reasonable, all be it eccentric. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, his sermons had turned darker. Even then she had seen the writing on the wall, but she had done nothing. She should have stopped him when she had the chance. If she had of acted back then, so many of her female kin would still be alive. Not only that, but countless malformed children would have never been born; then subsequently murdered. If only she had killed him back then, how different her life—and the lives of every Maxwell—could have been.

Over the years, she had imagined a hundred different scenarios of killing him. She had pictured feeding him to the undead. She had pictured cutting his throat, and then watching on as he turned into one of the things he revered so much. She even pictured strangling him as he raped her. But now that her chance was at hand, she found herself unsure if she could kill him.

As much as she hated herself for admitting it, she still had a deep seated love for the man who had raised her. It was true that her pa had changed into a crazed lunatic, but he was still her pa.

She tied off the last of the wire to the final tree and then inspected her handy work. With another shake of her head, she realized her real pa had died along with her ma, and now all that remained was a husk filled with pain and hatred. She wiped a single tear from her eye and steeled her resolve. If she got the chance to kill her pa, she would take it. To do any less would be a betrayal of all those who depended on her.

Izzy let out a long, low sigh and then turned and headed back to where Callum waited.

* * *

Callum stared out at the hollow, and focused his mind on what needed to be done. He started to run over different scenarios in his head, and how he would cope with them. Missing a hand was bad enough, but the wound was still incredibly vulnerable. He was managing to block out the pain while he kept the arm relatively still and protected, but if it got knocked or hit, well then all bets were off. It wasn’t only the pain that concerned him. The wound was still comparatively open, and already had signs of infection. If even a single drop of Lingerer’s blood—or saliva—made it into the wound, then he would be as good as dead. It would be like being bitten, which meant either he, or La Roux, would have to put a bullet in his head.

He knew this was true because he had witnessed firsthand the affects Lingerers blood had on open injuries. Many Rangers had survived brutal battles, only to change because blood from the undead had made it into their own injuries. With this thought in mind, Callum pulled his knife and started hacking at the thick leather of his protective coat. Soon, he had cut a large square from the bottom of the heavy garment. As soon as Izzy returned he would get her to wrap it over his stump and then tie it off with the twine from his pack. He knew the makeshift glove would be far from waterproof, but it would at least stop blood splatters from penetrating his bandages.

His mind then turned to the women hiding in the cave, and of how scared they must be. He knew that if they failed to stop not only the Hunters, but also the men following them, then they were as good as dead. He closed his eyes and pictured the description Izzy had given them of her pa. He visualized himself cutting the old bastards head off, and as the image coalesced in his mind, a smile lit his lips. He knew it was wrong to draw pleasure from killing, but he would make an exception with Izzy’s pa. After all the pain Jacob Maxwell had caused, death would be the only fitting end to the maniac.

Callum almost went for his gun as Izzy jumped down beside him. He looked at her, and for the first time saw not a victim, but a strong and capable woman. At that moment, he wished the Rangers took women as part of their ranks, because Izzy would make one hell of a Ranger, and one he would gladly have at his side.

“What ya doing with that?” she asked as she nodded toward the square of leather.

“I want ya to wrap my stump in it.”

“Is it to protect your wrist from the undead’s blood?” she asked as she set about covering his wound.

Damn, she smart, he thought as she took the leather. “Yep, or at least, I hope it will.”

As she worked, her eyes drifted in the direction of La Roux. “I wonder how Pierre is doing.’

Callum grinned, and goaded, “Ya like him, don’t you.”

Izzy simply blushed, but said nothing.

Callum opened his mouth to say something else, but instead he cocked his head and listened to his surroundings. He then looked at Izzy, and from the cold resolve that had replaced his wry smile, she instantly knew hell was about to erupt in the hollow.

“La Roux,” Callum shouted as he pulled his neckerchief up to cover his mouth and nose. “Here they come!”

Chapter 17

“Now, things are going to happen very fast,” Callum said as he handed a revolver to Izzy. “Battles rarely last more than a minute or two, but it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by what’s happening around ya. Stay focused on keeping my guns loaded, and leave the Hunters to me and La Roux. If everything goes south, don’t run; fight. Lingerers will run you down before ya can out run ‘em, your only chance will be standing your ground. Do ya understand!”

Izzy nodded and took his gun with shaking hands.

“IZZY!” Callum barked firmly. “Stow those nerves.”

Strangely, Callum’s harsh tone seemed to help her, and her hands ceased their shaking. Now she too could hear the fast approaching Hunters. Their coarse howls, grunts and bays seemed to be coming from every direction. Callum placed a hand on her shoulder, nodded reassuringly, and then stood.

Callum raised his revolver in the direction of the approaching throng of death, and cocked its hammer. He knew it was vital to fell as many of the Hunters in the first few seconds as he could, otherwise the hollow might become over run. His cool, calculating side kicked in, and his heart rate and breathing slowed. He had done this many times before, and today would be no different. Head shots, then, if they got close he would set to work with his tomahawk. Fifteen Lingerers, that’s all there would be, and he had taken out more than that on his own before. He concentrated on doing his job—the job of dealing in death—and nothing else.

* * *

La Roux covered his face with his neckerchief, then heaved his massive frame off the ground and spun toward the sound of the screeching Lingerers. As he turned, he glimpsed Callum doing the same, and nodded his approval. Even missing a hand, he knew Callum was a formidable ally to have at his side.

La Roux flinched as a particularly ear splitting wail rang out around the hollow, closely followed by another, then another. Soon the wails reached a crescendo, then abruptly died. He shot his fellow Ranger a nervous look and he saw his own concern reflected in the face of his young friend.

Over the years, he had heard Lingerers make many sounds, but the ones he had just heard were new to him. Normally, Lingerers sounded animalistic, and their cries lacked any communicatory skills. They were simply cries of hunger and wanton need. The wails which had just ceased sounded like battle calls. He knew this could not be true, but he could have sworn the call was meant as some kind of signal.

His eyes went wide as he spotted two Hunters bolting in his direction. The wire stood between him and the ravenous creatures heading his way. He gritted his teeth, and waited expectantly for the wire to cut them down.

The two Hunters darted toward the wire at an incredible speed, and at the last possible moment, they leaped high into the air and straight over the hastily erected trap. Both Rangers watched on in utter disbelief. Never before had they seen a Lingerer go out of its way to avoid injury. The undead never paid any heed to their surroundings, yet these two saw a danger and avoided it with ease. This did not bode well for them.

The Hunters landed in a hunched crouch, and eyed both La Roux and Callum hungrily. Then, as if the two creatures were communicating somehow, they exchanged a glance and then charged in La Roux’s direction. The undead’s unexpected behavior left both Rangers momentarily transfixed and unable to act. Only when the Hunters made the move for La Roux did they finally open fire.

As each man opened fire, the Hunters began to dodge and weave at an astonishing speed. Normally, both men always hit their targets with an unerring accuracy, but not today. Their shots went wide as both Hunters zigzag toward La Roux.

Callum looked toward Izzy, and she saw fear in his eyes. “Remember what I said about things going south?” he shouted.

She nodded and chambered a round into her rifle.

“Well there going south already. Shoot anything that enters this hollow. Don’t try for the head, just take ‘em down and we’ll finish them later.”

With that, Callum holstered his revolver, pulled his tomahawk, and ran to his friend’s aid.

* * *

La Roux stumbled backward and raised his arm to block the first Hunters attack. The creature latched onto his arm with all the ferocity of an enraged guard dog, and started thrashing its head side to side. Even though the thick, protective leather of his Ranger’s coat shielded him from the disease drenched teeth of the Lingerer, the pain of its bite was still considerable. La Roux raised his free arm and placed his gun against the incensed monsters ear. He then turned his head and pulled the trigger. He felt a wave of hot blood and brains splatter the side of his face, and the teeth tearing at his arm released.

He turned to look at his handy work, but the impact of the second Hunter drove him to the ground. As he slammed to the dirt, both his revolvers flew from his hands. However, he had no time to worry about the loss of his guns.

The Hunter flew at his face, and La Roux only juts caught the thing by the throat in time. The cords in the big man’s neck tightened with the strain of holding the ferocious creature at bay, but hold it at bay he would. Its teeth gnashed just inches from his face, and again he had to turn away to avoid the things infected drool from getting in his eyes.

With his temper stressed to its limits, the Cajun drove up with his knee and sent it slamming into the ghoul’s groin. The thing showed no signs of pain, but the force of his blow did send it flying off of him. With a speed that matched that of his attacker, La Roux threw himself to his feet, drew his large knife, and attacked that which had just attacked him.

With its arms out stretched, the monster roared and the thing sprang to meet him. La Roux had found his feet, and the fury of battle now had him firmly in its grip. He raised his knife high in the air and then brought it down in a powerful sweeping movement that looked both terrifying and graceful. The blade tore through both of the things outstretched arms with ease. It was now the Hunters turn to stumble and fall, and La Roux took full advantage of its misfortune. In one deft movement, he flipped the knife in his hand, then drove it back handed into the things skull.

As the thing fell to the ground dead, La Roux scanned the dirt for his dropped revolvers. A second later, he held both weapons in his hands and turned to see which of the Hunters would be next.

* * *

Callum had reached the center of the hollow when the first of the two Hunters hit his friend. Determined that he would not let La Roux fall to the undead, he gritted his teeth and increased his already considerable pace. A few more strides and he would be at his friend’s side, but the sound emanating from his right brought him skidding to a stop.

The rest of the Hunters chose that moment to join their advanced vanguard, and came charging in Callum’s direction. Thirteen Hunters assailed the wire at once, and in the frenzy to reach the warm flesh stood before them, several stumbled and fell prey to the wire. One found itself cut clean in half at the waist, the other at the top of its thighs. This only slowed their approach to a dragging crawl, but the other eleven moved with the same speed of the two now attempting to devourer La Roux.

The sound of gunfire erupted from the direction of Izzy’s location, and massive holes began appearing in the chests of the fast advancing throng. Callum could not help but admire her shooting skills as she desperately tried to protect him from the oncoming mass of gnashing teeth and rotten flesh. The force of her the bullets drove those hit backward, and sent them cascading to the dirt. The rest of the pack ignored their fallen, and focused on Callum in the middle of the hollow.

Callum drew on all the memories of those he had lost to the Lingering. He pictured his father and mother, he pictured his sister and old Jo. He imagined their pain and their terror as they fell, and he focused his rage on the filth now charging toward him. With his body fueled by hate and pain, Callum charged forward to meet the wave of undead. His anger would fuel his ballet of blood and gore. Vengeance would be his most terrible of weapons. As with every encounter that had gone before it, this battle would go some way toward evening his scorecard.

* * *

Izzy slipped Callum’s revolver down the back of her belt, and then placed her rifle to her shoulder. She picked her target carefully, and uttered a small prayer to the God she no longer believed in. In a matter of moments, Callum would be overrun by Hunters, and she would do her damnedest to stop that from happening. She advanced, firing as she went. She knew head shots would have to wait until she got closer, but her weapon was powerful, and a bullet to the chest might buy Callum some precious time.

With every step forward she took, she fired. As she moved, a myriad of thoughts filled her head. First and foremost was how many rounds did the rifle hold? Had Callum or La Roux told her? She did not think so. She knew her pa’s Henry repeater held sixteen rounds, so surely the Ranger’s model held more. Whatever it held, she resolved to run it dry, then she would use the revolver Callum had left behind. Once that was empty, she would use her knife and bare hands.

As she advanced, her eyes flicked to Callum, and her heart almost stopped. She saw a man every bit as single minded and terrifying as the Hunters. She saw no fear in him, only cold hatred and resolve. Her gaze returned to her foe, and she fired again. Again and again she fired, but then she raised her gun in alarm. Callum was charging into the mass of undead. Was he mad?

* * *

Callum ran forward, and the horde lunged for him as one. Without dropping his pace, he slid to his knees and took out the legs of the first two with his tomahawk. Before they hit the ground, he was on his feet again, whirling his weapon as he went. Instantly, he split the skull of one Hunter, pulled his weapon, and then planted it in the face of the next. Another Hunter grabbed his throat, but Callum lashed out at its knee with is booted foot, and bent its leg grotesquely backward. As the Hunter fell, Callum pulled free his tomahawk and brought it down on the center of its head, and the things skull split in two like a seasoned log.

From behind him, Callum heard the familiar sound of a Lingerer’s guttural groan. In one fluid motion, he pulled his tomahawk from the now dead Hunter’s skull, and spun with his weapon outstretched; dropping to a crouch as he went. The Lingerers grab for him went high, and his blade found its guts. As the things intestines spilled to the dirt, he stood and finished it with a backhanded blow from his tomahawk to the back of its head.

Callum moved out of the fray, and turned to see who would be next. Suddenly, the heads of the two Hunters closest to him exploded. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw La Roux advancing with his pistols held high. Another head exploded, but then La Roux ran dry. The Cajun threw his guns to the dirt, and pulled his long blade.

Callum looked forward again, and saw six Hunters remained, all but one had suffered injuries of varying degrees. Three were all but legless, another was cut clean in half. The last injured one had a hole in its chest almost big enough for him to pass his fist through. His attention finally fixed on the one remaining ambulatory Hunter, it in turn had its eyes fixed on Izzy. Callum suddenly realized that the last standing Hunter was the one meant for the woman at their side!

“SHOOT!” he bellowed as he bolted for the Hunter.

Izzy held the rifle limply at her side. She appeared to be in shock from what she had just witnessed, and did not respond to his calls for action. As if sensing this would be its only chance, Izzy’s Hunter ran at her like a charging bull. It hit her in her midsection and drove her to the ground with incredible force. Callum dashed to her aid, but he was still at least ten yards from her when she hit the dirt. Even from where he was, he could hear the wind being forced from her lungs, and he instantly knew she would not be able to fight the thing off.

Callum threw his tomahawk with all his might, and it tore into the Hunters back, but the creature showed no signs of even being hit. Instead, it turned Izzy’s head to one side, and lunged for her neck. Callum’s heart went to his mouth, and his hand moved in an instinctive blur. Behind him, La Roux hacked and stabbed at the five injured Hunters. In front of him, Izzy lay helpless and at the mercy of an uncaring and blood crazed monster. Callum’s heart pounded and his mutilated wrist throbbed, but still he would fight. He would fight to the end, but this would be close.

Chapter 18

Jacob Maxwell led his adoring disciples deeper into the woods at a full run. He smiled to himself as he tried to force air into his struggling lungs. No matter how well hidden the women were, his Hunters never failed to find their quarry. They were relentless. They would kill all in their path to get to the women, and the thought of such large quantities of blood being spilled in The Lord’s name thrilled him.

Jacob drew to a stop, panting. His men mirrored his actions and raised their guns.

“Did any of ya hear that?” he asked as he turned his ear to the direction in which they ran.

Now he heard more of his Hunters’ howls, and he knew his beloved creatures had found something, or someone. He turned to his men and smiled broadly, but his pleasure was cut short by the sound of gunfire. His head snapped back in the direction of his Hunters and the shots. He sincerely doubted the women would stand their ground against the Hunters, which meant only one thing; the gunfire came from the men who had dared to take his women.

“Do ya hear that!” Jacob exclaimed in a sudden fit of rage. “Those heathens dare to defy God’s will! Quickly now, we must make sure the Hunters are not hindered long in their pursuit of our harlots.”

He raised his gun and ran manically toward the sounds of the battle. His men looked nervously at each other, but they followed his example.

Chapter 19

Callum’s heart went to his mouth, and his hand moved in an instinctive blur. He would need to shoot on the run, which was always difficult, but not impossible. He ran hard, pulled his revolver and fired. Due to the speed at which he ran, his aim failed him and his shot clipped the monsters shoulder. Mercifully, it was enough to distract it from Izzy for the merest of moments, but it was all he needed.

He fired again, and his bullet grazed its cheek, spraying blood, teeth and bone all over the woman on which it now sat. He fired again, but the gun’s hammer just clicked down onto a spent cartridge; he was out of ammunition. He was now only a few yards from his target, and in a fit of desperation, he threw the gun at the creature. The gun flew through the air and smacked the ghoul between the eyes, and knocked it backward off of Izzy.

Callum saw his opportunity, and with both arms flailing, he threw himself onto the now prostrate Hunter. He drove his fist—closely followed by his handless wrist—down into its face. Completely heedless of the pain his blows caused his injured arm, he pounded the creatures face again and again. The Hunter clutched at him blindly, but it could not fight against the incensed thing now pummeling it.

Callum gritted his teeth as he felt wave after wave of agony flowing from his wrist. Still, he battered the creatures ever deforming features. As he felt the Hunter’s skull collapsing under his onslaught, he restricted his attack to his fist, and held his damage wrist away from the blood now issuing from the creatures half pulverized skull.

Callum drew back his fist for one last decisive blow, but a massive boot slammed down on the Hunter’s head before he could deliver it. He looked up and saw La Roux staring down at him. The Cajun offered him his hand, and he hauled Callum to his feet. Both men then turned and looked in Izzy’s direction. She in turn stared back at them unblinkingly, and then she too got to her feet. As she stood, she pulled up the hem of her dress and started wiping the ghoul’s blood from her face.

“Is it over?” Izzy asked shakily.

“Did any of that get in your mouth?” La Roux enquired as he moved closer to her.

“No, I realized what was happening and closed my mouth and eyes,” she said as she spat on the ground. “You didn’t answer me. Is it over?”

Callum cocked his head as he bent to retrieve his tomahawk. His keen ears had detected the approach of yet more trouble.

“No, I think the men from your camp will be here real soon,” he said as he looked toward La Roux. “Get your weapons, then take Izzy back to the cave. I’ll try to lead her pa and his men away from your tracks. As soon as ya can, start leading them down the mountain.”

“But what about you?” Izzy pleaded as she moved to his side.

“Just go, we don’t have time to discuss this.”

Izzy pulled Callum’s revolver from her belt and handed it to him. She then ran back to the log behind which she and Callum had concealed themselves. She grabbed up all the gear and then ran to La Roux. He had already retrieved his revolvers, and now he slung his pack onto his back. Without another word, La Roux patted Callum solemnly on the shoulder, and then led Izzy away at a full run.

Callum watched them leave, and then waited for Izzy’s male kin to draw near. He had to make sure they followed him and not La Roux and Izzy. This meant cutting things really close. He moved to one of the dead Hunters, then placed his gun against its head and waited. If blowing the head off one of their precious Hunters did not get their attention, then nothing would.

* * *

Jacob slowed to a halt, and dropped his hands to his knees. Thanks to all the exertion of the chase he could barely breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his muscles burned with equal ferocity.

“Go on,” he wheezed as he waved his men onwards. “I need to catch my breath, but the rest of ya go on.”

His men darted forward, and Jacob’s hand shot out and grabbed the wrist of the man closest to him. When he looked up, he saw it was his youngest brother, Eli.

“You stay with me.”

Eli nodded and holstered his gun. “Once ya got your wind back, will we be joining the hunt again?”

“Of course we will, ya stupid fool! I just need a few moments to catch my breath.”

Jacob moved to a nearby log and sat his large, overweight frame down. He then watched as the last of his men disappeared off into the trees. Eli approached and offered him his canteen.

“Would ya like some water?”

Jacob snatched the canteen from his fool of a brother’s hand and drank deeply of its contents. He then removed his hat and poured the remaining water over his head. Eli made no efforts to protest the waste of water. Instead, he simply stared off in the direction his kin had just headed. A minute or more passed, and then a single gunshot filled the air.

Jacob stood and looked off in the direction of the gunshot. He started to smile, but as sudden pain ripped through his chest and he dropped back down onto the log. Almost immediately, he heard his men shouting and again gunshots rang out.

His kinfolk had not only found the Hunters, but also whomever had been unfortunate enough to meet his undead. He guessed the Hunters had made short work of those who had stood in their way, and now his men were heading off in search of both the Hunters and the women alike. Another bolt of agony set his chest alight and he grimaced at the pain. He had over done things, and he needed a lie down.

“Eli,” he said as he massaged his sore chest. “Go tell the men I’m heading back to the camp.”

“But don’t ya want to see the women being punished by the Hunters?”

Jacob shook his head. “No, it’s God’s will that I head home.”

Eli looked at him with concern. “Are ya feeling alright? You look a might pale.”

Jacob’s anger rose. He hated being questioned by his people. “I told ya what to do,” he barked. “Now just do it!”

Eli ran off, leaving Jacob alone on the log. After a few moments, he got to his feet and headed slowly back down the mountain.

* * *

As soon as Callum caught sight of the men, he loosed a bullet into the Hunters head and then shouted, “Run, they’re here!”

La Roux and Izzy were long gone, but he hoped his shouts would complete his charade. With the words barely off his lips, he holstered his revolver and bolted from the clearing. Normally, he could move through the undergrowth without leaving a single sign of ever having been there, but that would not be the case today. As he ran, he made sure to break as many branches as he could. He wanted the men to look no further than his trail, and by being as clumsy as he could, he felt sure they would follow.

Several loud shouts erupted behind him, and then bullets whistled by his ear. He doubled he speed and yelled again. “Hurry, they’re just behind us! Keep the women well to the front!”

He could now hear the heavy footsteps of the men giving chase. He needed to stay just far enough in front of them to avoid being shot or captured, but not too far in front as to lose them. Callum ducked and weaved, but all the time he made sure his pursuers never fell more than a hundred yards behind.

For more than ten minutes, he led them away from the cave and toward the ravine. He knew the ravine would be a dead end, but he hoped to double back long before he reached it. Besides, the ravine was at least two hours away at a full run, and he had no intention of spending two hours running in a straight line. He would lead them away for another hour, and then he would take up a position where he could observe them. If he felt sure they had no chance of finding the women, then he would gradually make his way back to the cave. If he thought there was any chance of them finding his wards, then he would try to pick them off one by one.

Callum veered to his left and made sure to trample a fern as he went. As he hurried on, he looked back to make sure the lead men of the Maxwell clan followed. He saw a burly man turn in his direction, raise his gun, and then he fired. Callum bobbed nimbly to his right, and the man’s shot flew harmlessly by. Whatever these men were, they were neither bright, nor good at anticipating their quarry. Callum thanked his lucky stars that the Maxwells were both incompetent woodsmen, and poor hunters.

He carried on this way for another hour, but his exertions were beginning to make him feel extremely hot and fatigued. Callum felt sure the sweat now drenching him was not the result of the temperate heat of the afternoon, but rather the result of the ever growing grips of a fever. His mutilated wrist felt as if it had been immersed in a bucket of coals, and no matter how hard he tried to control the pain, he failed. Even before leaving the cave, he had recognized the early signs of infection creeping up on him. Now those signs were impossible to either ignore, or block out. He knew that he only had a matter of hours before the infection really took hold, then he would be of no use to anyone.

Callum decided to hunker down, and wait for his pursuers to pass. Once they were well out of his way, he would double back to the cave and attempt to track La Roux’s and the women’s escape route. He quickly concealed himself and became all but invisible to even the sharpest of eyes. He was starting to tremble from the sweats, which in turn caused the foliage concealing him to shake. With more effort than he had ever before exerted—and through sheer will power alone—he forced his body to still.

A few minutes passed, and then the incompetent pile of humanity that made up Jacob Maxwell’s men, streamed by. Callum slowed his erratic breathing and waited patiently for them to pass. As the last two men reached his place of hiding, they stopped and shouldered their guns. Callum could not understand how they had spotted him, but there they stood, not more than two feet from where he hid. His hand slowly moved to his tomahawk, but he froze when he saw they were beginning to unbutton their pants. He then realized they had inadvertently chosen his hiding place to empty their bladders.

Two streams of warm urine hit the foliage just above his head, it then began to drench him from head to foot. For half a minute, the two streams of rancid smelling liquid flowed, and Callum began to think it would never end. In an attempt to stop the men’s piss from entering his eyes and mouth, he slowly lowered his head even farther. He now looked at the ground around his boots, and watched as the puddle in which he sat grew ever larger.

I feel like death warmed up, he thought, and to top it all off, I’m now being soaked in piss by two of the men I vowed to kill. Is there no justice in the world?

As if to answer his wayward thoughts, the men—whose bladders were now well and truly empty—began to speak.

“Who’s going to tell Pa Maxwell about the dead Hunters?”

“I know I ain’t. He’s libel to put a bullet in the head of whoever tells him his precious playthings are dead.”

“What do ya suppose is wrong with him? I mean, ain’t like him to miss out on a hunt. To just up and head back to camp all on his own like that … well I say he must be mighty sick.”

Despite the final dribbles of urine dripping off the leaves above him, Callum looked up at the men in sudden interest.

“Whether he’s sick or not, ain’t no matter to us. If we don’t find the women, then we may as well stay out here forever. If we head back home empty handed, he’s liable to feed us all to them there Lingerers back at camp.”

“He is the voice of God, so if he tells us to jump in with those things, then we must.”

“Voice of God my ass. You know the only reason any of us follow him? It’s because he keeps our bellies full and our peckers wet. Take away either the women, or the food, and I’m out of there.”

“That’s blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy be damned. If we don’t find those damn whores soon, then I’m heading out on my own. I suggest ya do the same.”

With that, both men buttoned their pants, and headed back to their futile hunt.

Callum waited several minutes to make sure they were well gone, then he pulled himself out of his hiding place. He took off his hat and shook off the worst of the piss. He then lifted the hat to his nose and sniffed, which caused his head to swim from the reek. His hat stank of their urine—as did the rest of him—and that combined with his ever decreasing state of health nearly caused him to throw up. As he worked to clear the thoughts of vomiting from his mind, he turned his attention to what he had just heard. Jacob Maxwell was back in the camp, and he was all alone.

Callum decided there and then what his next course of action would be. He would head to camp Maxwell, and he would kill the man responsible for this whole nightmare. He knew the added time it would take to carry out his plans decreased his own chances of survival, but he did not care.

It would take several hours to reach the camp, by which time it would be close to dark. Even at the best of times, and in the best of conditions, traversing the woods at night was hazardous. However, in his state it would be all but impossible. This meant he would need to stay in the Maxwell camp until daybreak, and those extra hours would cost his body dearly. He knew by morning the infection spreading up his arm would have full hold over him, but it was a price worth paying.

From what he just heard, if he killed old man Maxwell then it was more than likely his clan of maniacs would dissolve. It would then be a relatively easy task for the Rangers to hunt down all those involved, and deal with them as they saw fit. By killing Jacob Maxwell, the serpent would lose its head and thus die. His mind was made up. Next stop, camp Maxwell.

Chapter 20

Callum stood shivering on the outskirts of camp Maxwell, yet sweat covered every inch of his body. As he stared at the assortment of tents and huts, he struggled to remember the trek down to the camp. Somehow, he had managed to drive his faltering body in the right direction. He did remember the continual feelings of one moment being too hot, and then the next too cold. The fever that now gripped him felt like nothing he had ever endured before. His vision was becoming more and more blurred. Not only that, but he was beginning to hallucinate. He had seen his dead father twice on the trek down to the camp, and the encounter—all be it imaginary—had left him shaken. He had to bring things to an end soon, otherwise he would simply be too sick to do anything.

His teeth chattered slightly as he scanned the hodgepodge of tents, shacks and Lingerer pens. Apart from the undead milling about inside the pens, the place seemed deserted. Maybe he had misunderstood the men from back up the mountain. Maybe they never existed. What if they had simply been a figment of his fever stricken brain, but one sniff of his piss drenched clothes told him they had been real. As the dusk deepened, a light appeared in one of the larger shacks. To his relief, he had found Jacob Maxwell.

Callum moved as quietly as he could, but he knew his abilities for stealth and guile were greatly diminished by his less than responsive body. To him, it felt as if his every foot fall crashed to the ground with the same noise of a falling tree. In reality, he still moved with less noise than the average man was capable of. But he certainly did not move with his normal animal like grace. After what felt to him like forever, he found himself crouched beneath the window through which light now streamed. He looked up at the sky and guessed it would only be a matter of minutes before darkness took hold. With a shaky hand, he pulled his revolver and readied himself for his next move.

* * *

Jacob massaged his chest as he poured himself another coffee. Since leaving his men, he had had another two bouts of searing pain rip through his chest, the last of which had brought him to his knees. He had pushed himself too hard was all, and he needed to take things a little easier. After all, he was no longer a young man, and The Lord still had much for him to do.

Jacob headed to his rocking chair, and lowered his overweight frame into it. Both the chair and Jacob let out a low groan. His was one of pleasure, but the chair’s was one of being pushed ever closer to collapse. With his coffee resting on his rotund stomach, Jacob closed his eyes and began to rock. After a few seconds, he began to quietly sing his favorite hymn.

“When we think of chill starvation,

When we think sighs and tears,

When we think of pale privations,

When we think of doubts and fears.”

Jacob began to rock a little faster as the lyrics of the hymn began to take hold of him.

“When we think of raging madness,

When we think of reckless beings,

When we think of death-like sadness,

Nature’s most distressing….”

Jacob abruptly stopped both his singing, and his rocking. Had something just banged against the outside of his home? He placed his coffee on the floor beside his chair, and slowly got to his feet. His hand moved to his revolver, and he edged toward the window. Maybe the men were back, or one of his undead had broken free. For some reason, he began to feel as if he was in imminent danger of dying. He had no idea why he felt that way, but the feeling was palpable and growing. He knew The Lord protected him from all the evils of mortal man, but still the feeling grew inside him. Something out there wanted him dead, and he would have to fight to stay alive.

* * *

Callum felt more exhausted than he ever had in his life. His limbs and eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget. He listened to the fat monster inside the shack as he began to sing. How could someone so evil have such a clear and soothing voice? Callum listened, and his eyes betrayed him.

As if his eyelids had minds of their own, they began to close against his will. Within a second, Callum had gone from a fragile state of wakefulness, to deep sleep. His head lulled forward, and with a lurch that was beyond the control of his slumbering mind, he threw it back. His skull slammed against the side of the shack, and the impact woke him instantly. His eyes went wide as he realized two things: he had given away his position, and the fat monster inside had stopped his crooning. It was time for the killing to start.

Callum crawled quickly away from the window and rounded the corner of the shack. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet and kicked open the door to the hovel. He raised his gun and peered into the dimly lit hut, but the lack of light and his failing vision caused him a moment of confusion. His instincts were off, and it took him several moments to spot the man he wanted to kill.

Jacob stood peering out of the window into the darkness, and he held a large revolver in his right hand. The tub of lard moved faster than Callum could ever have imagined, and wheeled in the Ranger’s direction. Callum told his finger to pull the trigger, but the fever slowed his command. Ordinarily, Callum was as quick as a rattler, but on this occasion, Jacob was quicker.

Jacob fired twice, but his aim was poor and the bullets found the door frame just to Callum’s left. The Ranger flinched as splinters of wood embedded themselves in his sweat drenched face. It was the wakeup call his body needed, and Callum returned fire. He pulled the trigger only once; it was all he needed. His bullet tore into Jacob’s gun toting shoulder, and sent him spinning and screaming to the floor. Callum holstered his gun, and moved shakily toward the writhing pile of shit now cowering in front of him.

“You can’t kill me,” Jacob wailed as he tried to drag himself away from the pale, sweat drenched specter looming over him. “I’m The Lord’s….”

Jacob’s sentence was cut short by Callum’s boot. The Ranger drove his foot into the old man’s mouth with all the strength he could muster. Jacob’s head snapped to one side, and he sprayed a mouthful of rotten teeth all over the floor.

“You do not represent any god; least of all the one true God. You are a vile excuse of a man,” Callum replied as he swayed above him. “Yer going to die, and then you will meet God, and you’ll feel the full force of his wrath.”

Jacob grabbed at his chest and his face distorted into one of extreme pain. Callum laughed and pulled his tomahawk. “Who do ya think yer dealing with? That’s the oldest one in the book, and it doesn’t fool me.”

Jacob grabbed the Ranger’s leg and the lunatic’s eyes went wide. Callum suddenly realized the fat bastard was not fooling. He did not want to be cheated from his final act of retribution by a heart attack, so he swung his tomahawk at the old man’s throat. However, thanks to the fever now eating him alive, his vision and depth perception was way off, and the blade flew past his targets neck with more than an inch to spare. The sudden motion of swinging his weapon sent Callum careering backward, and he slammed down into the rocking chair from which Jacob had only just departed. The Ranger sat slumped in the old chair—and as the fever finally took full hold of him—his eyes rolled up in his head and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Sensing he was near death, but also sensing he had an opportunity, Jacob reached for his gun and then leveled it at the unconscious man now sitting in his favorite chair. He realized God had forsaken him. Maybe he had displeased The Lord in some way, but he knew it was too late to make amends. If he had to die, then he would take this fool with him and they could both burn in hell together.

Chapter 21

La Roux and Izzy made it back to the cave without incident, and for more than two hours, the big Cajun led the women down the mountain toward safety. However, the longer they walked, the more uneasy he felt. On their parting, he had thought Callum looked far from well. In fact he looked like death warmed up. He knew the young Ranger was one of the most capable men going, but everyone had their limits. He stopped and dropped his pack to the ground. Izzy and her cousin, Mary, drew to his side and looked at him with some concern.

“What is it?” Izzy asked as she scanned her surroundings.

“I’m worried about Callum,” La Roux said as he pulled dynamite from his pack and stowed it in his massive leather coat. “I think you and the others are out of harm’s way, so I’m going back for him.” He finished by checking his revolvers and ammunition.

Izzy nodded. “Alright. What do ya want me to do?”

“Keep heading down this track. Stay alert, and keep moving for as long as daylight holds. There’s an old hunter’s cabin about ten miles from here. With luck, ya should reach it before dark. Hold up there ‘til morning, and then carry on down the mountain. You and Mary take my pack, it’s full of gear that you’ll find useful. I need to travel fast and light, so I won’t be needing it.”

“Will ya be coming back?”

He nodded. “If I don’t find Callum by morning, then I’ll hightail it back to you. Just keep moving ‘til I get back. Understood?”

Izzy nodded, and went to tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Be careful.”

The big Cajun’s hand went to where her lips had just been, and he felt his face reddening. He said nothing, but just nodded and headed back the way they had just come.

Izzy watched him for a while, and then she and Mary picked up his pack between them, and then they silently started on their way once more.

* * *

Moving quickly, La Roux headed back toward where he had seen Callum last. As he went, he made sure not to leave any evidence of where he had just come from. The last thing he wanted was any of the Maxwell’s stumbling across his back trail, so he remained extremely vigilant about covering all his tracks.

He arrived back at the hollow some five hours after he and Izzy had left it. The gore of the battle lay all around, but he wasted no time taking the scene in. Instead, he started the process of hunting down his friend. He bolted off in the direction of Callum’s obviously laid trail and began tracking not only his friend, but the men who had pursued him from the hollow.

For more than half an hour, he worked his way along the path the young Ranger had laid for those chasing him. The trail was easy to follow, and he could hardly believe that the Maxwells had fallen for such an obvious ruse. As he marveled at the stupidity of those hunting his friend, he heard movement from in front of him. La Roux somehow managed to make his massive frame disappear into the undergrowth, and he waited with knife drawn for the noise makers to draw near. A few moments later, three of the Maxwell men came walking in his direction. La Roux weighed up the pros and cons of letting them pass unhindered. He knew it could take three or four hours to track his friend down, by which time it would be well and truly dark. If the men knew anything of Callum’s location, then it would be wise to intercept them.

Without another moment of consideration, La Roux leaped into the men’s path and sprang into action. It took less than five seconds to kill two of them, and another heartbeat to bring the other to the dirt. The big Ranger knelt to one side of the man that he now held to the ground by the neck. The man whimpered and sniveled pitifully, which only went to anger La Roux further. The Cajun spat at the dirt beside the man’s head, and then lowered his lips to his ear.

“Now listen, and listen good,” La Roux growled. “Have any of your people found anyone?”

The whimpering man shook his head as best he could. “No, sir, no one at all.”

La Roux surveyed the woods around him and pondered on where Callum might be. Again, he spoke into the man’s ear. “Where are all the others?”

“Pa Maxwell went back to camp, he seemed poorly. Everyone else is hunting our women and the heathen men who took them.”

La Roux looked in the direction of the Maxwell camp, which was only five miles away. “Is old man Maxwell guarded?”

“Yes, by The Lord.”

La Roux squeezed the man’s neck, and he heard something pop. The sniveling scum let out a yelp of pain and the Cajun smiled. “Don’t be smart with me. Is he guarded?”

“No, no he’s alone.”

La Roux looked toward the camp once more. If he were in Callum’s shoes—and he discovered Jacob Maxwell was alone—what would he do. The answer was clear. He would head to the camp and kill the old sonofabitch. He knew he was gambling on whether Callum knew of Jacob’s location, but he felt sure his friend was at the camp. Without another word, La Roux pushed his knife through the man’s ear, and then dashed off toward the Maxwell camp.

La Roux reached the camp a little after dark, and he quickly noticed a dim light coming from one of the shacks. He took a broad, sweeping look around, but saw no obvious signs of his friend. He looked back at the shack some three hundred yards from where he stood, and decided it would be as good a place as any to start his search. Just then, gunfire erupted in the dimly lit shanty. La Roux drew his gun and ran toward the melee as fast as he could. It took the big man under forty seconds to cover the distance between him and the shack, a pace anyone would have found difficult to match.

The Cajun powered in through the open door and took in the scene as quickly as he could. Callum sat unconscious in a chair, and Jacob Maxwell lay on the floor with a gun leveled in Callum’s direction. However, with La Roux’s sudden appearance, Maxwell was trying to bring his gun to bear on the hut’s new arrival. La Roux wasted no time in putting a bullet between old man Maxwell’s eyes, and then he quickly moved to his friend’s aid. His hand went to Callum’s forehead, and he instantly felt how hot his he was. Callum was burning up with a fever that went well beyond the realms of being life threatening.

“Wake up,” La Roux said as he slapped Callum’s face. “Come on now, wake up, buddy.”

Callum’s eyes drifted slowly open and La Roux let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” La Roux exclaimed as he dropped to his knees.

“Is that fat old bastard dead?” Callum asked groggily.

La Roux looked at the man with half his head missing and nodded. “Yep, he’s deader than a door nail. Anyway, no need to worry about him, instead we need to worry about you. I think it’s time we get ya some real help.”

“Not before you kill all the Lingerers and then burn this place to the ground.”

La Roux shook his head. “No, from here on in, every minute counts.”

The Cajun moved to pick his friend up, but Callum grabbed his arm weakly. “Pierre.”

La Roux suddenly felt scared. Callum never called him by his Christian name. “What?”

“We can’t leave the undead for the other men to release. You have to kill them, otherwise others may die. Also, this place needs to be destroyed. The things that happened here … we can’t just let ‘em go unpunished. I’d rather die than leave this camp in one piece.”

“Listen, yer going to die unless I get you out of here now.”

Callum smiled weakly, and then shrugged. “If I die, then put a bullet in my head too.”

La Roux felt Callum’s forehead again, and then he looked out at the camp. The place had been host to so many nightmares. Callum was right, it had to be destroyed. He patted his friends shoulder, and then said, “I’ll do this as quick as I can. You just hold on.”

The camp contained two full pens of Lingerers, the third had been partially destroyed in their first attack on the camp, and as a consequence, was empty. The other two held around forty-five tightly packed undead, which made it like shooting fish in a barrel. As easy as the shooting was, it still took La Roux ten minutes—and almost every round he carried—to dispatch all the revenants.

With the undead dealt with, La Roux turned his attention to destroying the camp. While he wanted the place leveled just as much as Callum did, he knew fire would be an extremely dangerous way of achieving their goal. The camp was set in the middle of woodlands that ran for hundreds of miles in every direction. Starting a major fire in such a place ran the risk of burning vast quantities of forest as well. He felt a better solution would be to burn the large storehouse down, as well as Jacob Maxwell’s home. Both buildings were situated in the middle of the camp, and well away from both the tree line and other buildings. It was still risky, but La Roux felt confident the fire would remain contained to the two buildings.

The Cajun first moved to the stores and emptied it of all the drums of lamp oil. This he poured down the well, thus contaminating the camps water supply. Once the oil was removed from the building, he set it ablaze. He then moved to the stables, and saddled three horses, all of which he lashed together to form a line. The rest of the livestock—horses, cows, pigs, goats and poultry—he freed and sent them scattering into the trees. He finally returned to Jacob Maxwell’s house; and to Callum.

It had taken close to an hour to achieve all his mayhem, and in that time Callum’s precarious condition had worsened. La Roux was no longer able to wake him from his fever fueled stupor. He lifted him into his arms with the ease of a father lifting his sleeping child, and he quickly moved to the horses he had tethered outside. La Roux lay his friend across the saddle of the second horse. The last thing he wanted was Callum falling off as they made good their escape, so he lashed Callum securely to the saddle.

In the distance, La Roux heard the combined yells of many men heading in his direction. Clearly, the combination of gunfire and flames had alerted the Maxwell men to what was happening back at their camp. La Roux reached into his coat, and pulled out the five sticks of dynamite he had stashed there before leaving Izzy and the other women. He had enough fuse to burn for ten minutes, which was just about how far away he judged the men to be. With luck, they would turn up just in time to get themselves blown to pieces. He grinned, lit the fuse, then with an effort, he crawled under Jacob Maxwell’s house and planted the dynamite well out of view. After scrambling back out from under the hut, he jumped up on the lead horse, turned, and left camp Maxwell behind him.

Chapter 22

Izzy leaped to her feet when she heard the explosion. It was miles from their location, but sound traveled well in the mountain’s night air. If she had to guess, then she would say the explosion emanated from the direction of her old prison and home, camp Maxwell.

“What the hell was that?” Mary asked as she grabbed up one of the rifles left by La Roux and Callum.

Izzy looked at her cousin worriedly, and said, “I’d say that was Pierre causing pa some hell. I think we should double the watch ‘til morning.”

Mary nodded, and gestured to one of the non-pregnant women. The woman nodded, took the rifle Mary had, and headed out of the hunters cabin to take up an additional watch position.

“What do we do now?” Mary asked as quiet and calmly as she could.

Izzy looked her in the eye. “We wait.”

* * *

La Roux rode away from the Maxwell camp as quickly as he dared. While it was relatively easy to navigate the tight and winding forest paths by day, at night—and on horseback—the going was both slow, and dangerous. Behind him, La Roux heard the shouts of the Maxwell men growing in intensity. Judging by the clarity of the voices reaching his ears, the men were now back in the camp, which lay a mere two hundred yards behind him. He brought the horses to a brief stop, and tried to estimate how many men he could hear. Then, the chorus of voices suddenly became very agitated and angry.

I guess they just found Pa Maxwell, he thought as a slight grin crossed his lips.

Since lighting the fuse to the dynamite, La Roux had kept a countdown in his head. By his estimation, the dynamite would go off sometime in the next minute to minute and a half, which meant the disgruntled men now back at the camp would soon get a nasty surprise. He kicked his horse lightly, and started moving the three horse convoy deeper into the dark woodlands.

La Roux had barely traveled more than another thirty yards, when an ear splitting explosion filled the night air. As the sound of the explosion subsided, screams of pain and shock took its place.

It went off a little early. Damn fuses never burn as long as they should.

His mind then turned from the fuse, to the men suffering back in the camp. He found a grotesque pleasure in the sounds of agony coming from behind him. His mandate as a Ranger was to administer justice as best he saw fit, and he thought there was no more fitting a punishment for what those men had done, than burning alive.

Hope the sons-of-bitches burn in hell … they deserve everything they get.

Of course, he knew the explosion wouldn’t take out all of the Maxwell men. He did not even know for sure how many men had returned to the camp, or how many of those had fallen prey to the explosion. But he did know one thing for sure. The remaining Maxwell clan would think long and hard before attempting to hunt them down again.

They were now like wounded animals. Corner them, and they would most likely fight to the bitter end. Leave them alone, and they would more than likely sneak off somewhere to die. He felt sure the Maxwell clan had seen its last days, but that did not mean he would leave the surviving men alone. As soon as he had Callum safe and sound, he would bring back a team of Rangers and he would hunt down every last one of the surviving Maxwell scum.

But if the Maxwell men went into hiding, how would he identify them all? He had seen a few of the men, but by no means had he seen them all. His mind then turned to Izzy and Mary. Both women were brave and both wanted to see justice done. He knew both would readily agree to escort them on their hunt, and with them along, none of the Maxwell survivors would stand any chance of slipping through the net.

His mind then fixed on Izzy, and how much he admired her. Her physical beauty was undeniable, but it was her strength that he admired the most. A woman like that would be a fine catch indeed. She would make a spirited wife and a fine mother. As his mind worked over all the what ifs, an empty feeling began to pervade his stomach. There was no point day dreaming about wives and mythical lives filled with happiness. He was a Ranger, and Rangers did not take wives. But, he had been married before the Corps, and he had enjoyed being a husband. It was something that had brought him more joy than he had ever felt. For a long time, he thought such happiness would never be possible again… but Izzy, she could make him happy. If only….

His mind then turned to a discussion he had once overheard between high ranking members of the Rangers. His presence had nothing to do with the meeting, he simply made up one of the Ranger’s responsible for the meeting’s security. The three day meeting ranged over a wide variety of issues facing the Rangers in future years. For instance, what would happen to the Corps as the Lingering threat diminished? What role would Rangers play in the country’s future security? For some, these were all very interesting topics, but not for him. He was a work horse, and he did as he was told. If one day they told him to put down his gun, then put down his gun he would.

Even at the time, this one topic toward the end of the meeting had piqued his interest. The talk had turned to making the Rangers more like other military units, and allowing them more freedoms. Rangers were not celibate—they were allowed sex—but they were forbidden wives and families. Rangers were not allowed the distractions of worrying about what might be happening back at home. Rangers had to be totally focused on the task of ridding the country of the vast numbers of wandering undead. This meant life as a married man, or father, was out of the question.

The bigwigs had discussed lifting this ban as the Ranger’s role became less hazardous and more like that of an ordinary soldier. It was true that none of the men at the meeting saw this happening any time soon, but it did offer him at least a glimmer of hope. He was not trying to fool himself. He knew Izzy would most likely never take a second look at someone like him, but that did not mean that one day a wife and child would not be a part of his life.

A groan from Callum brought La Roux back to his reality. He was surprised to see it was almost dawn, and that the hunter’s shack was now only a mile or so away. By daybreak he would be back with the women, and Izzy.

Chapter 23

Izzy felt tired, but the rays of the rising sun on her face felt magnificent. She looked out over the mist covered mountains, and for the first time in a long time, she felt safe and at peace. The explosion she heard many hours earlier had at first unsettled her. Now she saw it as a signal of a new beginning. If—as she believed—the explosion marked the end of her father’s camp, then soon she and her kin could start their lives anew.

But what if the explosion signaled something else? What if it marked the end of La Roux and Callum? She shook her head and washed away the images of the two Rangers dead at her father’s hand. Her pa did not have anything that could have caused such a violent explosion. It had to be Pierre and his dynamite that caused the sky filling roar the night before. No, the Rangers were alive, she just had to wait for them to return.

“Over there!”

Izzy looked toward Mary perched on a rock high above the cabin. She was pointing toward the path that curved down to the shack. “What do ya see?”

Mary looked down at her cousin and smiled. “I see a massive man on a horse, and he’s leading two others behind him. He’s still a ways away, but it looks like La Roux.”

Izzy’s heart pounded with excitement and relief. “Is Callum with him?”

“I can’t tell, but there’s something laid across the saddle of the second horse. It could be a man, but it could be something else. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

“Go tell the others to be ready to move at a moment’s notice,” Izzy shouted as she started to run toward the path.

A huge sense of relief permeated every cell of her body. She tried to convince herself that the relief was purely due to the fact they had someone to guard and watch over them, but in truth, she knew the relief stemmed from a more self-centered place. Pierre had forced a large hole in her heart, and knowing he was still alive filled her with joy.

Almost out of breath from her sprint up the steep path, Izzy finally saw La Roux. On seeing her, his face lit into a smile, and she saw nothing else but him. He wasn’t handsome—not in a traditional sense—but to her, he looked like a man who could be trusted, loved, and treasured.

“Thank God yer alright,” she panted as she drew to a stop just in front of his horse.

“I’m fine, but Callum is close to death.”

It was then she spotted the figure strewn across the second horse’s saddle. She dashed to the unconscious Ranger and gently undid the leather wrapping covering his injured wrist. The smell that assailed her nose confirmed her worse fears. The moist conditions of his leather wrist covering, made the ideal environment for gangrene to take hold. If something wasn’t done soon, then Callum would not make it through the next twenty-fore hours.

She leaped up onto the rear horse and yelled, “Hurry, Pierre, we need to get him inside the cabin.”

La Roux spurred his horse into action, and he led the small procession back down to the hunter’s shack as fast as he dared go.

As they came into the small clearing surrounding the cabin, Izzy jumped from the still moving horse and ran toward Mary.

“Callum’s wrist is gangrenous, he’ll die if we don’t do something. That dead deer we saw on the way here, run to it and gather as many maggots from it as ya can. Now hurry!”

Mary wasted no time asking questions, instead she bolted into the woods in search of the deer carcass.

Izzy then turned to the small group of women gathered outside the cabin’s door. “Jess, you and Josie grab some buckets and head down to the spring. The water is like ice there, and we can bathe him in it to bring down his fever. The rest of ya, keep clear so we can get him inside.”

The group parted and Izzy’s two young cousins ran off toward the spring, each with a bucket in hand. Izzy then turn back to La Roux. He had already lifted his friend from the horse and was heading for the shack.

“Lay him on the bed,” she said as she moved into step beside him. “And strip off all his clothes. He’s burning up, and unless we can get his fever down, he’ll die.”

* * *

With Callum laid naked on the old bed, the smell from his wound became overpowering in the confined space of the small shack. Without hesitation, Izzy ordered all but those needed to tend to the fallen Ranger to leave. In truth, no such order was needed, as the stench from his wrist was enough to drive everyone else out. With their eyes locked on the all but dead man in the bed, the remaining women still inside the cabin began to leave. Izzy knelt by his side, and carefully washed his wrist with water boiled on the nearby stove. She then turned to La Roux and saw how worried he looked.

“Pierre, make yourself useful. Put out that stove and open the shutters and door. I want as much fresh air in here as we can get.”

La Roux did as she asked and then moved back to her side.

“I should leave soon,” he said as he felt his young friend’s brow.

Izzy shot a bewildered glance in his direction. “Why?”

“Callum needs a doctor, and I need to get some men up here to start hunting down survivors of your pa’s men.”

For the first time since La Roux’s return, her mind turned to her family. “Is pa … dead?”

La Roux nodded and then moved to the door.

To her surprise, the news of her father’s death meant very little to her at that moment. What mattered more was keeping La Roux close at hand. “Don’t go, we need ya here.”

La Roux looked back at her. “Callum needs me more. He’ll die if I don’t find a doctor.”

Izzy rose to her feet and moved to the Cajun’s side. “What if pa’s remaining men come after us? Who will protect us?”

“I don’t reckon the rest of your pa’s men will pose much of a threat anymore—you’ll be fine.”

He went to go, and she grabbed his arm. “Pierre … I need you here.” He looked down at her hand on his arm, and she quickly released her grip. “I’ll send Mary and Josie to get a doctor. Both a good horse women, and they’ll ride every bit as fast as you can. One of them can return with the doctor, while the other heads off to the Ranger fort. What’s it called?”

La Roux looked back to his sick friend and mumbled, “Miles … Fort Miles.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly as she grabbed his arm again. “Yes, Fort Miles. One can bring the doctor here from Fountainhead, the other can head to Fort Miles. It’ll be quicker than you going, because one can head in each direction. You’d have to get the doctor, then bring him back here before ya headed out again.”

La Roux nodded. “Makes sense … alright, I’ll stay.”

Izzy rapped her arms around him, and he almost, but not quite, returned her embrace.

“How long will it take to get the doctor back here?”

Izzy released him and thought for a moment. “If he’s in town and not out on his rounds, then by nightfall.”

“Who will go where?” La Roux asked as he moved back to Callum’s side.

Izzy followed. “I think Mary is a stronger rider, so she should head for the fort. Josie’s been to Fountainhead before, so she’ll fetch the doctor.”

At that moment, Mary entered the shack with the skirts of her dress cradled in her hands. Izzy waved her over.

“Pierre, there’s some freshly boiled sheets on the line. Run and bring me one.”

La Roux returned a minute later with a sheet gray from age. “What do ya want with this?” he asked.

“Rip it into strips about a foot square.”

He instantly followed her instruction, and passed her the first of the makeshift dressings. It was then he saw a bowl semi filled with maggots. “What are ya going to do with those?”

Izzy placed Callum’s rotten wrist on the handkerchief sized piece of old sheet, and then scooped up a handful of the maggots and placed them on and around Callum’s septic wound. She then covered the wrist with the rest of the rag and bound it loosely with a length of yarn. The improvised bandage moved and pulsed as the maggots began eating away at Callum’s necrotic flesh.

“The maggots will only eat the dead and rotten part of his wrist, and they’ll leave the uninfected parts untouched. They’ll slow the spread of the infection,” Izzy said as she got to her feet. “As soon as the other two get back with the water, we’ll start bathing him to bring down his fever. We’ll dress and apply more maggots every couple of hours, but that’ll be about all we can do ‘til the doctor gets here.”

La Roux let out a tired groan and said, “I guess he’s in God’s hands now.” He ran his hands over his face and then looked at the pile of blankets piled in the corner of the room. “I’m going to grab a little shut eye. Wake me if I’m needed.”

Izzy patted his arm as she passed him. “Will do.”

He stripped off his heavy, protective leather coat and threw it down by the pile of blankets. He then removed all his weaponry, followed by his hat. Soon, he stood there in only his boots, pants and shirt. He looked in Izzy’s direction, and caught her studying the broad and muscular expanse of his chest. For a moment, their eyes met and both knew what the other felt. Embarrassed, she looked away and turned her attention to what had to be done.

After checking on Callum once more, she moved outside with Mary at her side. She explained to her cousin about the need for her to ride to Fort Miles. Mary nodded stoically, grabbed a canteen of water, and then mounted a horse and galloped off. Izzy watched as her cousin disappeared from view, and then she returned to Callum’s side in the shack.

Five minutes after Mary’s departure—and after returning with the ice cold water from the spring—Josie took the two remaining horses and headed out for Fountainhead. In the meantime, Izzy and Jess took it in turns to bathe Callum with the water. It would be a long and worry filled day, but Izzy resolved herself to face it head on. Her gaze turned to the snoring giant in the corner of the room, and a little of her resolve melted. She wanted him, but did he want her?

Chapter 24

La Roux woke with a gasp, and for a moment, he could not place where he was. However, as the sound of voices around him grew clearer, his recollections of the past few days returned. He looked toward the open window, and saw that night was about to fall. Feeling old, sore and battered, he struggled to his feet.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Izzy stood by a man La Roux did not recognize. She turned and greeted his question with a smile. “All day. Anyway, ya woke just in time. Josie just got here with the doctor,” she said as she gestured to the young, dark haired man at her side. “This is Dr. Harvey Malone from Fountainhead.”

The doctor nodded curtly in La Roux’s direction, but made no further efforts toward greetings. Instead, he headed straight to his patient, Callum.

La Roux moved to the young doctor’s side and watched as he began tending to his friend. First, the young physician unwrapped Callum’s hand and examined Izzy’s handy work. Even La Roux could see the maggots had done a good job at stemming the spread of the infection. The smell from the young Ranger’s injury was far less repellant than when Izzy had first tended the wound.

“Whose idea were the maggots?” Malone asked as he pressed his ear to Callum’s chest.

All the women, including Izzy, seemed unwilling to answer. Maybe they still feared being questioned by men.

“They were Izzy’s idea,” La Roux replied proudly. “She’s a smart one.”

The doctor looked up at the Cajun and nodded. “She is indeed. If not for these putrid larvae, he would most likely be dead. She saved his life, but he isn’t out of the woods yet.”

La Roux looked at Izzy and offered her a reassuring smile. She returned the smile, but still looked a little wary.

“As you may know, gangrene is more often than not fatal, but of late, there have been some remarkable advances in combating the infection.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a large syringe, which he quickly filled with clear liquid. He then began injecting the solution directly into Callum’s tattered wrist. “This is a bromide solution, which we will inject into the infected area for the next five hours. After that, we will use the solution to wash the wound. Don’t be worried if the solution sends the skin yellow, that’s normal. We will also keep the wound packed with maggots until the washing of the wound begins.”

“Will he make it?” La Roux asked weakly.

The doctor finished with the last of his injections and then looked up at the big Ranger. “I have no idea. He’s young, strong, and a Ranger; all these things are in his favor, but the infection is well advanced. Only time will tell.

“However, if the infection does abate, then I will reopen his wound and stitch it. The cauterizing stopped the bleeding, but it is far from a satisfactory seal. That is a long way down the track though. First, we make sure he’ll live. Everything else is secondary.”

La Roux nodded solemnly. “I know you’ll do all ya can.”

Malone smiled, got to his feet, and placed a hand on La Roux’s muscular arm. “On the way here Josie told me all that you and this young man have done for the women from the Maxwell camp. Everyone around these parts knew about that place, but they were too scared and ill armed to do anything about it. I give you my word, I will do everything in my power to save one of the men who saved these women. I’ll stay here ‘til I know for sure which way he’s going.”

La Roux felt tears filling his eyes. He had never before been so affected by a mission. Ranger’s died, people died, but he always managed to remain detached. This time, things were different. Sure, he had feelings for Izzy, but why did he care so much about what happened to Callum?

He looked down at the pale, young Ranger and cuffed his eyes. He then knew why he wanted Callum to live so much. Callum had known he was sick, but he did his duty anyway. Loyalty and strength like that deserved a reward. He deserved to fight another day, and La Roux would proudly fight at his side.

“Thanks, doc,” he said as he turned to leave the cabin.

At that moment, Josie entered. She looked at La Roux’s tear reddened eyes, and then at Callum. “Was I too late getting the doctor here?” she asked as she eyed La Roux nervously.

He patted her shoulder as he passed her. “No, ya did good, real good.”

* * *

La Roux sat on a rock some thirty yards from the cabin. He heard movement behind him, and he turned in time to see Izzy approaching. His feelings toward her were strong, and having her close only made things harder.

“What’s wrong, Pierre?” she asked as she settled beside him. La Roux stood and took several steps toward the dark tree line.

“Have I done something to upset you?” she asked. “If I have, then I’m sorry.”

La Roux’s head sunk and he let out a sigh. “No, Izzy, ya ain’t done nothing wrong. It’s me whose doing wrong.”

She got to her feet and moved close to him. He could feel the heat of her body through the thin, worn material of his shirt, which only made resisting her all the harder. He had to distance himself from her—both physically and emotionally—otherwise no good would come of what might happen next.

“What do ya mean?”

“I allowed myself to get too close to those who I was supposed to protect. Because of my uncontrolled feelings, I’ve compromised my decision making. I’m sorry, Izzy, but I can’t be alone with ya.”

“Why … why can’t ya?” She placed a hand on his chest and looked up into his world weary face. “I’m a grown woman, and I know ya want me.”

He stepped back and away from her touch. “What I want doesn’t matter. I’m a Ranger, and we have rules of conduct and I….”

“Rules of conduct?” Izzy interrupted as she looked up at him. “You and Callum have been gentlemen and honorable. Ya haven’t done anything wrong.”

The bright moonlight lit her face, making her look even more beautiful. He wanted her more than anything, but if he gave into his urge for physical intimacy, then all would be lost. While he was permitted sex, relationships were out of the question, and he knew the taste of her lips would undo him. If he made love to her, then he would have to leave the Corps. Not because of the act, but because he would not be able to control his love for her. No, he had to make sure things went no further.

“Izzy, Rangers ain’t allowed certain things, one of which is a wife. We live a dangerous life, and most of us wind up dead. Having someone back home ya love … well, it gets in the way of doing our job.

“Every time I’m close to ya, or you touch me, I start getting feelings that I just can’t allow. I know I’ve only known ya a short while, but I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time. Things I thought were dead to me. Yer very special, and in another time and place, then maybe. But here and now, well, I have to remain a Ranger. What we do as Rangers is just too important for me to throw everything away just for a silly emotion.”

It was Izzy’s turn to step back. She looked shocked, but she had a slight smile on her face.

“Why are you smiling?” La Roux asked confusedly.

“I wasn’t sure before, but I am now. You feel the same way about me, as I do about you.”

“Yes, but I can’t, not if I want to stay a Ranger, which I do. I’m good at my job, and there is still so much that needs to be done. I can’t allow my own selfish feelings to jeopardize that.”

Izzy looked up at the moon and nodded. “I understand.”

“Do ya? Do ya realize this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done! I’m telling the woman I’m falling in love with, that I can’t be with her.”

She returned her gaze to his face, and it made him feel like he had just slapped her. She was crying.

“Nearly all my life men have treated me no better than dirt … then you and Callum showed up. Both of ya treated us like we mattered, like we were human.” La Roux went to speak, but Izzy held up her hand. “Let me finish. I see you Pierre. I see ya as the man you once were, the man you are, and the man ya will be. Yer good and kind, and ya care for those around ya. Do you know how rare that is in this new world of death and depravity? Well I do; and I love ya for it.

“I know how important being a Ranger is to you, and I would never want to jeopardize that—never! But I don’t want to be apart from ya either. I know we’ve only known each other a few days, and my women kin folk would say I’m mad, but I want to be with you. There must be a way … there must.”

“But don’t ya see, Izzy? You may just think ya love me because I freed you. You could be mistaking gratitude for love, and I would never want to take advantage of ya like that.”

She looked at him with eyes that blazed with both anger and resolve. “I know my own feelings, and I ain’t mistaking anything for anything. I love you ya damned fool, and I know that won’t change. Besides, it ain’t no one’s business, so who needs to know about how we feel about each other. We could just keep our feelings between us.

“I know yer allowed to bed women, so why not bed me?”

“If I ever laid down with ya, then I would never return to the Corps. I’m strong, but I wouldn’t ever be strong enough to leave you. Plus, I could never lie to the Corps, it would betray all that the Rangers stand for.”

“Then don’t lay with me. If I stayed close to you, but we never took that next step. What then?”

He took her hands in his. “Izzy, that would be like torture. Every time I see ya, I want to kiss and hold you.”

She pulled free of his grasp. “It would be hard, but the other option is worse. I could live with almost anything, but I don’t think I could live without seeing you.”

La Roux nodded. “I feel the same, but I’m gone for months on end. You’d hardly ever see me anyway.”

“What if I found work in the fort yer posted to? I could see ya on your return.”

“Well, yeah, you could do that….”

“Then it’s settled.”

La Roux held up his hands, gesturing for her to slow down. “Izzy, my unit gets moved around a lot. We’re based out of Fort Miles at the moment, but that could change. If it does, what then?”

“Simple. Where you go, I go.”

He shook his head again. “What about your family … your sister?”

“I’m sure my sister would come with me. After all, where’s safer than a Ranger’s fort? As for my cousins, they’ll do just fine without us.”

La Roux ran his massive hand over his face. He felt exhausted, and cornered. He had to admit, the thought of not seeing her again ripped him apart, but would the pain be less than seeing her and not touching her?

“Izzy, I still think it’s….”

“Pierre, can’t ya tell when a battle is lost? I feel safe knowing yer around, and I want that feeling for the rest of my life. If it means making sacrifices, then I’ll make sacrifices. Also, ya ain’t going to be a Ranger forever. When ya leave the Corps, I’ll be waiting.”

“That could be ten … maybe even fifteen years from now, and that’s if I make it.”

“You’ll make it, and I’ll be waiting.”

His hand went to her cheek and she closed her eyes at his touch. She smiled as he caressed her cheek, and he knew the battle was lost.

“Alright,” he said. “But I won’t hold ya to your promise. If you ever get sick of waiting, or ya meet someone….”

“I’m yours, no one else’s.”

“But if ya….”

“Pierre, stop it.”

“Is this how it’s going to be? Am I ever going to finish a sent…?”

“No, just do as yer told,” she said with a wry smile.

He laughed, and the booming sound made Izzy jump. “Fair enough,” he said as he wiped a tear from his eye. He then sniffed the air. “What’s that I smell?”

Izzy sniffed too. “Josie brought supplies back from Fountainhead with her. I’d say that’s bacon.” La Roux’s mouth began to visibly water. Izzy’s nose wrinkled at the sight. “Pierre, yer slavering like an old dog.”

He laughed again. “Are ya still sure you want to be around me?”

She laughed too, and replied. “All dogs can be trained … even old ones.”

With an understanding reached—albeit a strained and tenuous one—they both headed toward the smell of cooking bacon.

Chapter 25

Callum’s eyes flickered open and he took a deep, sharp breath. His head felt like it had rocks in it, and he struggled to straighten out all the images bombarding him. He closed his eyes and saw his father laying stricken with the dreaded Lingering curse. He also saw old Jo being led away as one of the undead. Then images of himself cutting off his own hand swamped his mind. He gasped with shock at the final image, and tried to sit up, but he lacked even the strength to lift his head from the pillow.

“Steady, steady.”

The voice sounded familiar, so he slowly turned his head toward the voice. “Anderson, is that you?”

The Ranger’s young, kind visage came close to Callum’s face, and he smiled. “It’s good to have ya back among the living.”

Callum tried to lift himself up on his elbows, but failed. “Could you help?” he asked as he tried again.

Anderson leaned across Callum and lifted him under his arms. Soon, he found himself propped up on pillows as he inspected the room in which he lay. He appeared to be in a cabin, and as he looked down at his left wrist, he realized that not all the images that had harassed him had been just bad dreams. His hand was missing, and the stump was wrapped in a clean gauze bandage.

“Where am I?” Callum asked as he lifted his damaged wrist to his eyes.

“Do ya remember anything of your last mission?” Anderson asked as he pulled up a nearby stool and sat. “Do ya remember losing your hand?”

Callum stared at his bandaged wrist intently and murmured, “Vaguely.”

Anderson began to recount how they had found the dead and mutilated body of a woman, and of how he had escorted Tilly and the baby back to Fort Miles. He then told Callum of the mission, as it had been recounted to him by La Roux. When Anderson got to the bit about the fight in the hollow, everything came flooding back in a rush.

“I remember,” Callum said as he lowered his damaged arm back to the bed. “I led the Maxwell men away from the cave, then I headed to their camp to kill Jacob Maxwell. After that, everything is blank.”

“La Roux found ya passed out and at the mercy of Maxwell. He killed the old bastard, took care of the camp, and then brought ya here. That was ten days ago.”

“You mean I’ve been out for ten days?”

“Yep. In fact, yer lucky to be alive. If not for Izzy’s quick thinking, you’d most likely be dead.”

Callum looked around the cabin, but saw no signs of the place being occupied by anyone else but him. “Where is everyone?”

“Izzy sent her cousin Mary off on horseback to Fort Miles. She stumbled across me and Tilly along the way. We were still a good day from the fort on foot, so I asked Mary if I could take the horse, and I left her with Tilly and the babe.” Callum looked at him worriedly, and Anderson held up his hands in a supplicating manner. “Don’t panic, they’re safe. Before I left ‘em I gave ‘em all my weapons and told ‘em to stay put. Believe me that Mary knows how to look after herself.

“Anyway, as soon as I got back to fort, I rounded up a squad and headed straight back out. Along the way, I picked up Mary so she could guide us here, and I left a man to take Tilly back to the fort.”

Callum scratched at his wrist through the bandage and said, “That didn’t answer my question. Where is everyone?”

Anderson grinned. “As impatient as ever. By the way, that’s a good sign,” Anderson said as he pointed at Callum’s busy fingers. “Shows things are healing nicely.”

Callum glared at him. “Get on with it!”

Anderson got to his feet, and headed for a pot of coffee simmering on the stove. He poured a cup, then gestured to see if Callum wanted one. Callum shook his head and got the feeling Anderson was playing with him. Finally, the Ranger sat back down, sipped his coffee, and continued.

“All the women accept, Izzy, Mary and Josie have been taken back to the fort. Izzy and Mary went with La Roux and the rest of the squad. They’re hunting down the Maxwell stragglers. By all accounts, things are going well.

“Josie is out checking the snares, so she should be back soon with some nice fresh rabbits. After the doc left, I got the honor of playing sick-nurse to ya. Seems my previous medical training meant I was the ideal man to wipe your ass and change your dressings.”

“And I’ve been out cold for all that time?”

“Mostly. When I got here, you’d been out for about four days. You were out of the woods by then, but the delirium and hallucinations had set in. You screamed a lot.” Anderson shifted nervously on his seat. “A few days after the screaming, ya started talking in your sleep. You babbled for hours. You talked about the mill, and your pa. You talked about losing your dog, Hector. It was mighty grim stuff.”

Callum looked away from his colleague. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid. If half of what you said was true, then ya went through a nightmare. To be honest, it explained a lot.”

Callum looked at him again. “What do ya mean?”

Anderson placed his coffee cup on the floor beside him, and then ran his hands through his hair. Callum could tell he was trying to figure out the best way of saying what he wanted to say.

“Just spit it out, Anderson. You ain’t going to hurt my feelings.”

Anderson clicked his fingers and pointed at him. “That’s exactly it! Yer hard, hard as nails, or at least ya act hard. Callum, yer a good man hiding behind a callous outer shell.”

“All Rangers are hard, and sometimes callous,” Callum said as he began to examine his injured wrist again. “Those things come with the territory.”

Anderson shook his head. “Not like you. Yer in a whole different field of toughness. Callum, ya cut your own God damned hand off, and still finished your mission! To do something like that, well, you must be able to switch something off inside your head. Christ, by comparison, you even make La Roux look like a Sunday school teacher.”

A Smile cracked Callum’s lean, gaunt face. “Why thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment. Callum, you need to let people in.”

Callum looked at Anderson angrily. “I do what has to be done. That’s all.”

“You do, but you take too many risks. Risks that will get ya killed one day. Your past explains a lot about how yer able to do the things ya do. It explains your disconnect and why ya go it alone. Don’t get me wrong, Callum. When faced with a horde, it’s you and La Roux I want at my side, but I have to know you don’t have a death-wish.”

Callum swung his legs from the bed, and found he was completely naked. Unfazed, he held out an arm to Anderson. “Come on, make yourself useful … help me up.”

“What are you doing?” Anderson said as he pulled Callum to his feet.

“Just stretching my legs,” Callum replied as he took a couple of tentative steps. “To be honest, Jack, before this mission I liked being cold inside. It made me steel against wood, fire against ice. But the events up in these here mountains have made me rethink the way I am.” Callum pulled his arm free of Anderson, and took a few steps more. “Izzy, Mary, and all the other women from the Maxwell camp have suffered far worse than me, but they still act like humans. I don’t think I’ll ever be the warmest of people, but I will try to be more like those around me. I don’t want to die, but I didn’t particularly want to live either.”

“What about the undead?” Anderson asked as he shadowed Callum around the room.

Callum stopped and turned to the Ranger. “The undead should be dead, and I will do my darndest to see as many of them beneath the ground as I can. Nothing about how I feel toward them has changed.” Callum looked to the window and stared out at the magnificence of the woods surrounding the cabin. “I was there at the outbreak, and I’ll be there at the end. Those things have taken everything from me, and I need to make them pay for it.” He looked back at Anderson. “My pa….” His voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and pushed on. “My pa died trying to get to my ma and sister. He died doing the right thing. I owe it to him … to them, to do as much myself. I won’t let their deaths be for naught. In their names, I go on, and I won’t stop ‘til I’m dead and buried myself.”

Callum began to waver on his feet. Anderson gently took his arm, and softly said, “Sounds fair enough to me. Just remember, yer not alone anymore, ya have the Corps. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

Callum huffed, and said, “The Corps won’t want a one handed Ranger.”

“They do, thanks to La Roux. They sent out your discharge papers, but La Roux tore ‘em up. He’s arranged for you to go through basic again. If you pass everything they throw at ya, then they’ll let you stay.”

Callum stopped his slow shuffle back to the bed, and looked Anderson in the eye. “How did he manage that?”

Anderson shrugged. “He knows someone high up, he won’t say who, but he pulled strings. Anyway, it’s a done deal. You just need to regain your strength, then retake basic. You could be back with me and La Roux in six months.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Callum said as he stopped and allowed a real smile to light his face.

From behind them, they heard a scream, then laughter. They turned to see Josie holding a brace of rabbits in her hand. She was staring at Callum’s scarred and naked body with more than a little amusement.

“You ain’t shy, are ya,” she said between her guffaws of laughter. “Mind, ain’t nothing I ain’t seen before.”

Anderson reached for the table and grabbed up his hat. He gave it to Callum, who quickly used it to cover his manhood. “Sorry, ma’am,” Callum said with a grin.

Josie waved his apology off and said, “Good to see ya up and about. Fancy a bite to eat?”

Callum nodded as he slipped back beneath the covers. “Yes, ma’am, I believe I could handle a little rabbit stew.”

Chapter 26

Callum rode into Fort Miles and headed to his old barracks. It had been almost a years since he had last set foot in the place, and being back—especially after the rigors of basic—made him feel good … real good.

Ranger basic training pushed individuals to their absolute limits, and he had relished the experience first time around. However, second time around, he found things much harder. He knew missing a hand would handicap him when competing against the new, hungry cadets, but he never really realized how much of a disadvantage missing an appendage would be. Hell, it had taken him the whole month of his recuperation just to learn how to tie his own laces, so boot-camp was like a journey into hell.

The instructors at Fort Brigs were tough, and they made it perfectly clear to him from the start that they did not think he belonged there. The Rangers was no place for a cripple, least of all a man crazy enough to cut off his own hand. The cadets shared the opinions of their instructors, and had gone out of their way to make his life hard. Callum knew not to react to the provocation directed toward him by instructor and cadet alike. Instead, he turned his considerable will to conquering everything in his path.

Fortunately, he had found one ally at Fort Brigs, Sergeant James Rogers, the base’s armorer. Like Callum, most at the base looked down on him because of injuries he sustained in the field. Rogers’ face, along with the best part of his back, had been badly disfigured by fire. Along with his disfigurement, he had lost an eye, and his left leg beneath the knee. In spite of his injuries, Rogers could make any kind of hand held weapon you wanted. Knives, swords, tomahawks; you name it and he could make it. He took a shine to Callum, and set about the task of equipping him with the tools needed to complete basic.

It took Rogers no time at all to design and make Callum a thick, leather cuff that fitted snugly over his wrist, and then strapped tightly to his forearm. Rogers had incorporated a sturdy catch assembly into the cuff, which made it possible for Callum to quickly snap weaponry in place. It did not take Callum long to learn how to use his new toy, and soon he surpassed the cadets with whom he competed.

By the end of basic training, he had earned the respect of cadets and instructors alike. He also owed Sergeant Rogers a great deal. The old Ranger refused all thanks Callum sent his way. Instead, he merely told him to do his duty, and give the undead hell.

Callum dismounted his horse and looked around. He had sent word ahead of his arrival, and he felt sure La Roux and Anderson would be here to greet him. He turned and started walking toward the small saloon, when he suddenly heard a booming, and very familiar voice.

“Is that you, Wentworth?”

He turned and saw both La Roux and Anderson strolling his way. The big Cajun sported a wide smile, as did his smaller companion.

“Who else were ya expecting?” Callum yelled as he moved to meet them.

After a round of handshakes and hugs, La Roux held Callum at arm’s length and looked him up and down. His eyes fixed on the cuff.

“What’s that?”

Callum looked at the cuff and said, “It’s my equalizer. Without this, I would have never made it through basic.”

“Really?” Anderson said as he took Callum’s wrist and lifted it so he could take a closer look. “It just looks like a piece of leather and a catch of some kind.”

“Watch,” Callum said as he pulled his wrist free and used it to push his heavy Ranger’s coat to one side.

His belt held a number of unusual looking weapons and tools, none of which had any handles. Quick as a flash, Callum drove the cuff toward the hilt of a handle-less blade hanging from his side. The catch on the cuff clicked into a series of holes on the blade, and Callum drew it with the ease of a knife. He held the eleven inch weapon up for the two Rangers to inspect.

“Impressive,” La Roux said as he ran a finger over the blade.” His finger came to a semicircular recess on the blade’s back. What’s this for?’

Callum’s right hand shot over his shoulder and he pulled a short barreled rifle. He swung it down, and the barrel fit perfectly into the recess.

“I’m missing a hand, but I still needed something to hold the barrel of my gun, so Jim made me this.”

“Jim Rogers?” La Roux asked, and Callum nodded. “He’s a good man. I served with him just before he got hurt.”

“You served with him? He wouldn’t tell me how he got injured. Do you know?” Callum inquired as he holstered his gun and snapped the blade back into its place on his belt.

“A horde was heading our way, and he took them all on alone. When it looked like he had no chance of getting out, he set off an explosive. He lost his leg, an eye, and got burned beyond belief. He pulled through though … remind you of anyone?”

Callum realized why he had liked Rogers so much, they were one and the same. “He’s a good man, and he made me a whole array of gadgets like this.”

He pulled his pistol and then pressed it to his cuff. The revolver had a small lug beneath the muzzle, just in front of the trigger shield, and the catch on the cuff locked in place around it. He then released the gun, and it remained attached to the catch.

“Thanks to him, I can reload just as fast as I did before.”

He pulled the gun free of the cuff, then showed them all the tools that attached to it, all of which hung from his belt. He had a small ax head, a hook which he could use for climbing, he even had a sharpening stone set in a metal housing. His two friends nodded, impressed by the versatility and ingenuity of the cuff.

“And of course I still have this.” He threw open the right side of his coat and revealed his father’s tomahawk. “So I’m ready and willing to get started on our next mission.”

“Hold your horses,” La Roux said with a laugh. “You just got here, so let’s spend tonight celebrating and eating. Tomorrow, we head out for the badlands.”

Callum nodded. “The saloon?”

“Yep, meet you there in an hour.”

Epilogue

Callum entered the saloon and the smell of stale beer and poorly cooked food instantly assailed his nostrils. To his surprise, he found the strange combinations of smells oddly comforting. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he had missed the disheveled dive almost as much as he had missed his two friends, which made him realize how much he had changed in the last few months. He was still as stoic and single minded as ever, but a more human side had reared its head. Basic had been hard on him, not just physically, but emotionally. It made him realize how important La Roux and Anderson were to him. He now knew he saw them as his brothers.

He looked around the almost empty bar, and saw his friends talking to two women. The women had their backs to him, but he felt sure he knew who they were. La Roux spotted him and waved him over. As Callum walked toward the small group, the women turned. Izzy and Tilly looked far better than when he had seen them last. They now carried more meat on their bones, and their faces were fuller. They looked healthy.

Tilly held a bouncing baby in her arms, and Callum’s stomach lurched at the sight of him. The last time he had seen the child, he was covered in his dead mother’s blood. Images of Tilly’s dead sister’s body flooded his mind and he had to stop for a moment. He briefly closed his eyes, lowered his head, and tried to wash away the images of Alice’s mutilated body.

“The boy looks fine and happy,” he muttered as he kept his head lowered. “He’s going to be fine, Tilly and Izzy will see to that.”

He lifted his head and forced a smile. Keep the past in the past, he thought as he approached them once more.

“You two are looking mighty well,” he said as he reached the women. “And so is this little fella.” Mostly because he had seen others doing such things, he ruffled the baby’s hair. “What’s his name?”

He had not seen the little tike since rescuing him close to a year earlier, and neither La Roux nor Anderson had mentioned him in their correspondence.

“He be Callum.”

Callum’s eyes shot in Tilly’s direction. “You named him after me?”

“Yep,” Tilly replied with a smile.

Dumbfounded, Callum looked at his two Ranger friends, and La Roux boomed with laughter.

“I knew this would be your reaction. That’s why I never told ya.”

Izzy slapped the big man’s shoulder and told him off. “You play nice, ya big galoot,” she said as she looked at him lovingly.

Callum watched the way Izzy stared at La Roux, and got an uneasy feeling. La Roux had told him of his and Izzy’s arrangement, but Callum felt sure things would be hard for them, or they may even end badly. It was clear the two were deeply in love, which was something Rangers could ill afford. Still, La Roux was his friend, and he would stand by him.

“I’m honored,” Callum finally managed.

“I wanted to tell ya,” Tilly said sheepishly. “But Pierre convinced me to hold my mouth. He said it would make a nice surprise, but now I see he did it just for sport. I’m sorry if I upset ya in any way, twas not my intention.”

Callum smiled at her. “Don’t worry yourself over me. I’ll admit it was a surprise, but a good one.”

“Talking of surprises,” La Roux said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The General wanted me to give ya this.”

“Could ya open it?” Callum held up his stump. “Opening letters is still a bit tricky.”

La Roux opened the envelope and passed Callum its contents. Callum started to read it, but the Cajun could not wait. “It’s a promotion! Seems you’ll be my new boss.”

Callum reached the end of the letter and then looked at his friends. “I’ve been made a lieutenant.”

“Seems ya impressed the Brass at Fort Brigs. That—along with your work on the Maxwell mission—convinced them ya were officer material,” Anderson said as he offered Callum his hand.

Callum tucked the letter under his left arm, and then shook both Anderson’s and La Roux’s hand.

“This calls for a drink,” La Roux said as he gestured to the barkeep.

“We’ll leave you boys to it,” Izzy said as she took Tilly by the arm and started to move away.

“No, please stay,” Callum said as he stepped between the women and the distant door. “I want to hear how you two are doing. Plus, having women around might make him behave.” He jerked his head toward La Roux.

Izzy looked at Tilly, and then both women nodded. Soon, all five, plus baby Callum, were sat at a nearby table. They ate copious amounts of stew. The men drank beer, and the women water. They talked and they laughed. Izzy told Callum of the jobs she and Tilly had found in the fort. La Roux and Anderson told Callum of the missions he had missed. Callum told them all of his time and trials in basic training. Talk never turned to the dark times of the Maxwell camp, or of that mission.

Instead, talk turned to the future, and of more optimistic times. They talked of a time when Rangers would no longer be needed. They talked of light things, happy things. Through it all, Callum thought of his family, both old and new. All his blood kin were gone, lost to the Lingering, but these people were his kin now. His new family had arisen from blood and pain, but the bonds between them were strong. He may never be able to show them the affection they deserved, but he loved them in his own stoic, dry way. He would die for them, and they he. In his own limited way, he felt happy. Happy for the first time since being a boy … since the Lingering set foot ashore at Hope Cove.

About The Author

Ben Brown was born in Reading, England. He struggled through school academically. Diagnosed with dyslexia meant being removed from class to attend ‘remedial” lessons. As a child, Ben did not enjoy reading and writing, and left school early to work with his father as a builder. It wasn’t until his mid-twenties that Ben persisted in teaching himself to read — and finally read his first novel.

Ben emigrated to Perth, Western Australia in 1990, where he now lives with his wife Michelle and two adult children, Chelsea and Zac.

To pass the hours working as a bricklayer, he would think about writing a novel. However, it took many years for him to pluck up the courage to turn his dreams into words.

His dyslexia, and informal knowledge of the English language and grammar, made his first book a real challenge. Luckily, he had plenty of people around him to help him on his journey.

His love of scientific facts, futuristic possibilities, and fast-paced action infects his plots and writing style. He thoroughly enjoys pushing himself creatively, which means venturing into many types of storytelling. As a consequence, his catalog is a mixture of sci-fi, speculative and horror fiction.

Ben now has a growing number of novels to his name, and he fully intends to expand on that number.

Questions or comments? E-mail me at bensebooks@outlook.com or find me on the following social networks:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/beninoz

When you turn the page, Kindle will give you the opportunity to rate this book and share your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter. If you believe the book is worth reading, then please would you take a few seconds to let your friends know about it? Also, reviews are the lifeblood of every author, so please try to find some time to post a quick review.

All the best,

Ben.

Table of Contents

THE LINGERING

BOOK TWO

RANGERS

www.bensebooks.info

Table Of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue