Pale Rider: Zombies versus Dinosaurs (2 page)

“My name is Jean. I am a rider as you can
see.” A few loving pats on the dinosaur’s neck helped illustrate
the bond he felt for his ride. “Are you Paul, the lower
farmer?”

I hated when people said that phrase ‘ lower
farmer ‘. The proper terminology was ‘ unprofessional farmer ‘. I
didn’t farm lowland like a pure idiot. Blues with high ground were
always a problem.

“I am Paul,” I said with a cautiously, slow
manner.

The man dug into his side satchel and picked
out a small handful of papers. He then began to read them … out
loud, like a moron.

“Paul, the pale rider, please sell me the
land under your feet right now. I will pay you half of the
professional rate and will include unclaimed land adjacent to this
area. It is twice as large as what you have now. If you agree,
please sign these papers. Jake Fruilton”

Jean handed the documents to me and I read
them to verify. Part of me wondered if this pompous rider was
surprised I could read. I then signed and passed the papers
over.

“Just like that?” Jean said in a shocked
manner as he fumbled to grab the papers back. “You're not going to
send a counter, or tear up the offer, or think on the matter
overnight?”

I nodded and looked away. I was hoping the
brief gesture would shove him off my now former property.

Unfazed by a lack of manners, he had the
stones to ask me why. I didn’t say anything back to this man,
keeping my silence. I don’t waste words on the frivolous. I didn’t
reply that I knew Jake Fruilton had a family now. He needed
something stable to start on, but was too proud to beg. This
trouble was all he had to offer.

Jake was an extra cautious unprofessional
farmer. He had taken few risks, including over-manning his land to
help prevent any surprise visits. That extra man power always came
at a cost. Jake’s sense of worry only appeared to grow as he got
married. He spent extra money on safety precautions for his wife,
including iron doors and window frames. He never went outside at
night, evening, or morning. I was going to call him a recluse and
invite him to beer when he told me that his wife was pregnant. He
expected me to be happy, overjoyed. That night was rough between
us. I told him that family men don’t farm; we farmers die. He
resented how much that scared his wife and a shouting match
began.

I was left pondering what insanity drives a
man to farm with kids, when the messenger started to ride away. His
mounts loud footprints kicking up dust and twigs with every thud.
The excess of noise snapped me out of my daydream. I had a field to
finish, and then I would plan to go into town for the local bar. In
addition to being a way to relax, men often went looking for work
there. I would need to complete a lot of planning for this new land
and gather a crew.

A dank bar in the sun somehow looks worse
than at night. Maybe the cracks in the plaster walls show better.
Perhaps the floating dust vibrating off cobwebs makes the place
feel extra dirty.

So far I found a crew of containers. The
containers never worked in groups less than three. While each set
of men had a different method, the manner was still the same.
Containers put up the fence quickly, followed by putting a more
permanent fence behind that one. Some would put up a third fence
while others would reinforce both fence lines. The first containers
learned how important temporary fencing could be in a life and
death struggle. A few seconds could be the difference between
staying clean or becoming infected. After the agreement, I ordered
the men a round. We drank, making polite conversation and
discussing minor details.

Across the bar a man was laughing loudly and
slapping the table. The other patrons looked frustrated they were
not having as much fun. I had come to this bar for this man. He was
a rider, and wild man, named Avant. Like myself, he was an
unprofessional farmer. He farmed for all the right reasons. After
losing his family to blue brains, he became reckless. He was known
for charging in and crushing blues repeatadly when clearing land. I
was worried that he would lose his head in the heat of things, but
I knew he had done some work for Jake. I knew Jake to be cautious,
so I was willing to take the chance on the upstart. I excused
myself and began walking over.

“…the poor sod told me I was on the wrong
land!” Avant quipped to his tipsy conversation partner. The
conversation partner looked away and appeared to be having trouble
paying attention. It was only after Avant slapped the table and
laughed loudly that the man began laughing.

“Anyone sitting here?” I asked Avant.

“Go ahead! Perhaps you’d care to exchange a
glass of beer for a tale? I’ll supply the tale.” Avant turned up
the corner of his mouth and pushed a near empty glass toward
me.

“I have a different job for you.” I ignored
his offer since I didn’t have time to waste chatting all night.
“You up for some rough farming? Got a lot of yards to cover, and I
can’t cover them myself.”

“You need more than just me,” Avant leaned
back and started counting on his fingers, “A crier, a crew of
containers, and as many riders as you can find.”

I squinted at his hand and noticed he had
reached his fourth finger. Perhaps his drinking pal wasn’t the only
one drunk. “I have the containers, you are the other rider, and I
still need a crier."

“Hold on… I haven’t agreed to anything yet”
Avant tilted his head in a slumped position. “We haven’t even
discussed pay.”

“Percentage deal” I replied “You get an equal
portion of what the land sells for when it goes pro.”

He looked back at his hand and saw four
fingers sticking up. While I wondered if he was estimating a
quarter, I didn’t push the point.

“And I’ll buy you a round,” I said to sweeten
the conversation.

“You got a deal. And I’ll introduce you to
our crier too…” He seemed to suddenly sober. “First drinks first!”
he announced shaking his nearly empty glass “Then you can go over
some topography details.”

Two beers later, the last crew member to
aquire was the crier. There might only be one in the whole
settlement and I needed him for this to work. Why would someone
yell for blue brains? It was so backwards to cause intentional
sound to stir the blue brains up and to their feet. Often these
young men dreaming of adventure found themselves hip deep in a
nightmare. I didn’t understand them, but understanding was not
required. All I had to do was hire one. Right now, I had a “resume”
that the crier sitting across from me was good. Item number one on
his resume was that he was still breathing. Resume item number two
was Avant’s word.

The crier looked straight at me. “Don’t doubt
me. I will set off three noisemakers then hide. Each noise maker is
scheduled to run for ten minutes. I then leave those and set three
more noise makers in a new area. I repeat this cycle for as long as
it takes. After that, it is up to you to clean up.”

The man opposite to me had a darker shade of
skin that wrapped around bulges of muscle. His arms reminded me of
large soft balls stuffed in a sock. I was pretty sure that the
muscles were not just to impress women. A crier’s ability to pull
themselves up and away from danger was how they stayed alive. That
required fast thinking and strong arms.

“Solomon, I think I can use you. I assume the
typical deal of a percentage works? Do you have a wife or
girlfriend to give your share… just in case?”

Solomon snarled a little at me. It was just a
lip twitch and squint of the eyes, but those signs showed a storm
underneath. I was reminded that I didn’t understand town criers. If
I lost this one, my whole plan would blow up.

“I’ll collect. I haven’t died yet, pale
rider” Solomon hissed. “Plus, I always pack a plan D.”

I nodded, unsure if I heard B or D but not
wanting to ask. Everything I asked him appeared to somehow offend.
I could not lose this man from my crew. I began to tell him about
my plan. He would start by drawing all those shambling monsters
towards the center. Avant and I would then mow down these
creatures. When we felt comfortable, I would hop up on the T-Rex
and finish the surrounding area. While I mopped up, the containers
would build the permanent fence. After fencing and cleansing the
whole property, everyone got paid in beer. In a year, we all got
paid in cash.

“So you need a signal when I’ve started
crying” Solomon asked me with a stern face. That was such an odd
phrase to hear from this huge man. I needed to be careful to
control my urge to smile, as I did not want to insult this man.

“I have a flare gun. Once we see the signal,
we erupt toward the center. Your nerves are critical here.” I
leaned toward him and lowered my voice, the small smile dissipating
on my face. “Too soon and we lose momentum. Too late and they fade
into the background again.”

“I’ll make sure it is timed right” Solomon
said as he took the flare gun from my hand. His grip tightened
quickly and I thought he might break the gun right there. “You
better not be as dumb as you look, Pale Rider. Do not hesitate when
I launch this. If you wait too long, the blues won’t be the only
ones out for blood.”

I frowned, nodded and leaned back. I kept my
eyes locked on his to show him I understood his words. Tomorrow
afternoon we would start. With my crew assembled, I finished my
drink. Lucky for me, as it was last call.

The night slipped into the morning and the
morning into day. Everyone sat on their dinosaur mounts, tense with
the task at hand. I had a triceratops while Avant had a
stegosaurus. No words were exchanged, which I felt was the correct
way to do things. Once we saw that flare bloom fire petals in the
sky, we would charge towards the center. The plan was to just sweep
through several times and then the t-rex would clean the
surrounding area. Quick, easy, and then beer all around.

Avant was massaging his temples when the plan
was thunderously shattered by a panicked dinosaur. Clearing land
rarely went to plan, but it was rare that it went off course so
soon.

The vegetation deeper in the forest was the
first sign of trouble. The commotion started with cracking trees as
a large animal thumped out of the nearby forest. As if being
saddled in a giant rodeo, the brontosaurus kicked and bucked with
its back legs. The beast kept jumping from left to right as if
something were riding it. Our simple plan gave way to my bellowing
commands between the bleating roar of the long-necked dinosaur.

“Re-group point! Re-group point!” I yelled to
my crew, pointing down the fence line. This order would cause a lot
of noise, but a quiet operation was no longer an option. We also
had to continue the plan. Solomon was still preparing for our
sweep, though I couldn’t imagine a better crier than a loud, pained
dinosaur. Were there ants on its back? No. Those were zombies. The
brontosaurus must have been foolish to stop for vegetation or bed
down nearby.

It took me a few moments of staring to
realize that I hadn’t been moving. Instead, I was transfixed on the
scene slowly coming up closer and closer to me. When I realized how
near the dinosaur was, I kicked my ride into action and got away.
The others had already left long ago. They needed little prompting
when a crazed dinosaur was involved.

I followed the broken trail of bushes and
trees to where the others in my crew had gone. I stopped up near
the center of the group, who looked even more nervous than
before.

“Did anyone see a flare?” I asked a little
more shrill than I wanted. A darting of eyes told me that we had
all forgot to keep an eye out for it during the dinosaur rampage.
“Let’s keep an eye out for it. Solomon is counting on us.”

Had we missed the flare? Was Solomon being
slowly suffocated in a swarm of hungry blue zombies? Why had there
been a brontosaurus out here? Something wasn’t feeling right.
Something about the way the dinosaur panicked just didn’t feel
right. Clearing land gives you a sixth sense for an expired
situation, and this felt downright sour. With each passing
brainstorm, I grew more and more queasy. I almost missed the small
bloom of light, a little off from where I had been looking. I
realized I forgot to calibrate for the new location.

“Alright. Time to work gentlemen.” I told the
group as I grasped the reigns.

We kept pace together going through the brush
toward the source of the flare. As expected we saw crowds of blue
brain zombies trying to swarm a tree. Our crier almost appeared
bored. He made a show of yawning as if getting chased up a tree by
blues were an everyday occasion. Perhaps for him it was.

The blue brains crunched and flew apart as
the dinosaurs ripped through. They had been taught to swing their
heads as they plowed a field, giving them a dual advantage. Not
only would blues find it harder to cling, but it would clear more
blues from the path. The group broke apart to complete another pass
through the pale flesh. I was surprised we hadn’t found more of the
blue brains. Maybe this crier survived by being soft spoken.

“Solomon!” I yelled at the man in the tree.
“Is this all the zombies you could find? I am used to doing several
dozen passes, not just two.”

“I did my part, Pale Rider.” Solomon spun the
words with contempt down at me. “Maybe you got a good deal on the
land?”

“Maybe” I replied half-heartedly. I was
looking around for more blues to clear. Sometimes they come in
herds or flocks. Perhaps this group was just the start of the full
assault. When I didn’t see anything moving I mumbled to myself.
“Maybe too good.”

“Solomon!” I yelled up to the tree. “Come
down, let’s try again further down. Maybe we just picked a bad
spot.”