Thursday, December 12, 2013

The Zombie Cowboy Two-Step by Jeanette Raleigh Excerpt

The Zombie Cowboy Two-Step by Jeanette Raleigh

After years of hardship fighting in the Civil War, Wyatt settles in as the sheriff of Red Bluff. To the townsfolk, his memories of the walking dead are just stories. But after a gang robs the stage coach, Wyatt knows...the dead are back.

Wyatt is on the trail of the Clayton gang whose attack left the driver in shock mumbling about red eyes. When the Summer boy goes missing in the same area, the townsfolk fear the worst. There is more to fear, and soon they will be tested in the most horrific way.

It will take all of Wyatt's courage to stop the evil spreading through his town, for the dead are walking.

***On sale through December 25th***


Wyatt stared at his whisky once more before tipping it back. Boy would he be drunk by the time he was done with this story. Maybe even drunk enough to play the fool and hunt the Clayton gang tonight. A man would need a lot of whisky to go playin’ with the walking dead.
“The night was miserable. By the time dark was at its deepest, the fighting had passed us by. The fields were littered with screaming men. The smell, it was like walking past the butcher’s shop but these weren’t no cows. And I shook so hard my teeth rattled, even soaked as I was in sweat. Longest night of my life.”
The saloon took on that eerie quiet feel a place has when something too big for words is happening. Not the smallest whisper crossed between the men. Not the scuffle of a boot nor the clanging of a glass.
“The next morning I watched a shell of the fellow get up. His eyes,” Wyatt stared into the distance before swigging the last of his whisky. “The feller was dead and his eyes were empty, like they was starin’ but not at anything in this world. Well, this feller picked up his rifle and walked down the ridge just like he planned to rejoin the fight.”
“Did he?” Jake hovered at the bar, waiting for the story’s end.
“Nah, he found a corpse and started gnawing on it.”
Missy laughed then, bright and explosive and waved a hand in front of her face to pull in air. “Whooo, Wyatt, you had me going there for a while. Dead man picked up his rifle and went gnawing at the other men like a rat. I thought you were going to tell a real honest war story. That’s some tall tale.”
Nervous laughter broke out as the miners turned away from Wyatt and went back to their drinking.
But Wyatt never finished what he had to say. That boy on the battlefield wore a hole the size of an apple where his heart should have been. No one walked away from a wound like that. And even now, on moonless nights, Wyatt woke in a cold sweat from dreaming about that boy’s eyes and the sounds of slurping when he bent over another dead soldier.

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