Manifest Tragedy: A Historical Zombie Western (Ravenwaen and Eden)

[Eden]

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[Eden]

Claire and Louis Broussard

Dust rolled 'cross two pairs of boots, one a little dainty and the other scuffed to hell. There might have been a tumbleweed or three along the road but the land here seemed too empty even for them. The woman stumbled in her tracks: she had an air of exhaustion about her, but when her husband paused to straighten her and be sure she was all fine, it was clear she was no fragile lady. She'd crossed small mountains and vast woods, but the combination of heat and the sights they'd seen had drained the best out of her. He wasn't faring much better, either.

She would never quite get used to all the wind and dust in this land. Struggling to maintain her grip on the hat--Louis had bought her the frilly little thing from a shop back in New O'leans, a classy little place with a puzzled shopkeeper. She'd made a vague flute-playing gesture with her hand as they'd left, an insult she'd picked up back in Montreal with Louis' uncle. It had left him even more puzzled, and amused Louis terribly. Folks around here took even less of a liking to the Indian bride than her husband's countrymen up in Quebec. Though the lazy city had been a bit kinder to her than the rest of this American land, she supposed it had to be, as mixed as it was.

Louis muttered in drudged-out Creole a few curses regarding the revolver he was attempting to clean. A mean feat, doing it while walking. They'd passed a few of the cargo off to her while he was busy with the metal monster, give him more flexibility in the arms. Damn if it wasn't impossible, he'd manage anyway. He had to.

They had to be blissfully deep in Texas by now, judging by just how damn ugly the landscape was. He'd never been much of a fan of the bayou or any other feature scattered nearby the family plantation--Claire hadn't been any sort of fan--but the sight of all these hole-eyed lizards and cacti made him wish he'd stayed home and faced the undead. Or better yet, stayed up in Port Royal.

He broke into a string of curses regarding just about everything the Holy See might hold dear when he tested the revolver and it jammed all over again. Claire glanced over to spy him starting from the beginning, before cranking her head around to be sure none of the undead had popped up in along the horizon. So far, so good.

The sudden and brutal destruction of Louis' hometown had left the pair dazed when they'd returned from a fishing trip only to find the lazy city still burning to the ground, shrieks echoing from every which direction as folk tore each other's flesh from bone. They'd turned right back around again and went west, and hadn't stopped since. Weren't sure just what they'd find when they hit the first city--it'd been all ghost towns so far. But that wasn't all that unusual, or so they'd heard. Unfamiliar territory, either way.

He'd finally got the revolver working again when the stench of burning flesh and wood reached Claire's perceptive nose. She held out a hand, glancing sideways at him with a finger pulled up to her lips.

"Odeur-vous il?" she whispered. Louis wrinkled his brows together and tried to detect the distant scent. Faint, but it was there. Suppose that's what he got for spending half his life in a city. He nodded.