Because I'm Your Father, That's Why!

This is a first draft that should give you an idea about the story world. It’s completely unedited, a true first pass. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it this way, or first person in Custer’s view. Thoughts?

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Captain George Armstrong Custer watched the sun slowly setting over the disaster that was California, and wondered again how the evening would turn out. He had only just arrived at Fort Carson within the hour, and the cargo he had escorted out of California under heavy guard made his skin crawl in a way he was unaccustomed. His promotion to Captain had surprised him in the wake of his recent bad luck, career-wise. But then when he had been briefed on the situation in California, it all made sense. The Army needed officers, and needed them badly. California had been burning through manpower in a way never before seen outside of war.

A private trotted over to Custer from the tower’s roof hatch, his clothing rumpled and his forehead damp from sweat.

“The last injun’ has arrived, sir!” the private said. “Mr. Carson is getting everyone sitch’ated downstairs.”

“Thank you, private,” mumbled Custer and turned with a flourish that was more instinctual than dramatic. He rested one hand on the hilt of his sword and his opposite elbow on the butt of his pistol. This close to the California border, he felt naked without at least two pistols and a rifle, but no one wanted any of the Indian delegates to feel threatened by the US Army. There was enough to be scared about tonight without confusing who was the real enemy.

Custer met Major Raines in the tower lobby, although a place like Fort Carson really had nothing that a cultured man would call a “lobby.” It was just a large room just inside the tower with doors leading off to side halls and rooms. Large wooden double doors let to the center of the tower, where the delegates and Kit Carson, the translator and no relation to the naming of the Fort itself, waited for Custer and Raines. Outside the double doors stood several Indian braves, keeping a watchful eye out for any white treachery. Custer knew full well that it was wise to do so. Until recently US policy towards the Indian was one of containment and eradication. No one knew that the day would come when an alliance with the various Indian nations would be the best thing for everyone.

“Took your time, Autie,” said Raines when he saw Custer. “Thought we might have a problem when Geronimo got here. He was asking a lot of questions about the design of the Fort. He’s a smart one. He knows something strange is going on.”

Strange is right, thought Custer. Fort Carson was not like other frontier forts. It had a sizeable stone tower surrounding by smaller buildings of wood or stone. Four guard towers were space at corners with rifle men. Each guard tower had two men, one watching the Fort grounds, and one watching the western side of the camp. Only cursory attention was given towards the Nevada side of the Fort. Artillery guns were situated facing the west as well, with one of the brand new Gatling guns aimed at the tower entrance, and a second one on top of the tower, again facing west. Along the western side of the Fort workers were building an enormous wall. But the wall was clearly not being built as protection for the Fort, but was instead going parallel to the fort. Custer knew the wall was being built along the border between Nevada and California, and that one day it would meet up with other walls being built at other forts around California.

Geronimo was wise to suspect something was wrong. Because it couldn’t be more wrong.

“Then we should get this nasty business over with before he jumps to the wrong conclusion,” said Custer, and headed for the double doors. Two Army guards, standing uncomfortably next to the Indian guards, opened the doors for Custer and Raines.

The central tower room was filled with men, both white and Indian. Half the room was laid out like a court room or theatre, with rows of chairs all facing a raised platform. The majority of men in the room were Indians, with a few Army officers seated across the aisle from them, and several soldiers lining the walls. Kit Carson, the interpreter hired by the Army, was chattering away with many of the older Indians. Geronimo stood in the front row, staring back at Custer and Raines as they came in.

On the raised platform was an enormous cage, designed to hold at least a dozen men. The door to the cage was fixed into the wall on the other side, only accessible from some other room. Two guards stood on either side of the cell.

Carson looked up and said, “Thank God you’re here. Now can we get this started? The mystery is as bothersome to the Indians as it is to me!”

“It’s your show, Captain,” said Raines, and took a seat.

Custer ran his hand over his handlebar mustache, set his shoulders, and walked to the end of the chairs. He hopped up on the platform and turned to look at his audience. Many were just braves brought along for protection or bravado. But the important players were now silently looking him over. Geronimo, of course, was here on behalf of the Apache nation. Lassic, the chief of the Wailaki had his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed. Captain Jim nodded at him, possibly the only friendly Indian face in the room. Captain Jim had been instrumental in setting this meeting up, and being from California, knew first hand what the stakes were. If Captain Jim hadn’t personally requested many of the men in this room to take part, they would not have come. Feelings between the Indians and the United States were less than stellar. Even with Captain Jim’s personal urging, the US Army had still had to provide extensive bribes to all of the tribes.

“I know what you think of us,” began Custer. “You call us ‘white devils.’ And I admit some of us have given you good reason to call us that. And, before now, we didn’t really care. We fully intended to throw every last Indian off the land they claimed as their homes, and it didn’t matter to us if they lived or died. Indians were nothing to us.” Custer waited as Carson translated for those who didn’t speak English. He let the words sink in as the Indians shifted in their seats. Some, like Geronimo, were obviously angry.

“But the situation has changed. And although you may not realize it, it has changed for all of us. Something has happened in California, and we need your help to contain it.”

Before Carson could finish translating, Geronimo waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. “What do we care of the problems of the pale face? What could have happened in California that is worse than what you have done to our people?”

Captain Jim stood up. “You gave your word you would listen. If after all has been said and shown, if at the end you still do not care, no one will make you. I would be just as angry as you. But I have seen these things the whites are going to tell you. I know the dangers. So listen.”

Geronimo, still fuming, remained silent. His face was set in an angry, birdlike scowl and his hand gripped his rifle tightly. But he knew not to start anything inside an Army fort unless he had no intention of getting out alive. And retaliations would most certainly be harsh.

Custer continued, “Something was released by miners in California, looking for gold. We don’t know what it was. The local Indians don’t know what it was. But we know what happens. It creates something as bad as the devil himself and worse than any nightmare. Men who were once dead stand up and kill others indiscriminately. Men, women, children. They don’t care. And they are almost impossible to stop. Anyone they bite is infected by this evil and for that reason their numbers are growing.”

Custer ran his hand across his moustache again. “Shortly before I set out for Fort Carson, I received word that San Francisco was lost to these monsters. And we haven’t heard from settlements all up and down California. Both white and Indian. Whatever it is has turned California into a bloodbath, and it’s spreading. We plan to wall off the entire state and keep these creatures confined. But we can’t do it alone, and we certainly can’t do it while fighting multiple Indian wars throughout the West. We’re proposing an alliance between the United States of America and all of the Indian tribes. Some will assist us here walling up California. The rest will just cease all hostilities. In return we will also cease hostilities against your people. We will also deed to the Indian nations half of each territory where we are in conflict with your people.”

“And we should believe that you will keep any deal with us?” asked

“We will have little choice,” said Custer. “If we break our word, all you have to do is attack the Wall and release those monsters. None of us can afford that.”

Geronimo again spoke up. “You must think us fools, Captain. You think we Indians are so gullible and superstitious that we would believe in talk of monsters? I don’t know how you managed to trick Captain Jim, but the Apache are not so easily fooled!”

“We assumed you would need more than my word. Frankly, if our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t believe me either. If I hadn’t just come from California, I probably still wouldn’t believe me. So we brought one of the creatures with us. Corporal,” said Custer to a guard near the door. The guard rapped on the wall with the butt of his rifle, and the door inside the cage opened.

At first nothing happened. Then there was a low growl from the darkness of the doorway. A sound like a drunken man might make in the midst of a particularly bad dream. A shape appeared in the doorway, being pushed forward by a long pole with a looped rope at one end, around the figure’s neck. The shape was small, and until the rope was lifted from around its neck and a final push from the pole made it stumble into the light, it was difficult to make out.

“What is this madness?” asked Lassic, his voice hollow.

It was a young girl. She was dressed in a frontier dress of brown wool. Her feet were bare and dirty, and her hair was tangled and matted with dried mud and goo, and hung across her face like strips of frayed leather. There was a bloody handprint along the bottom hem of her dress.

“At one time,” said Custer, his mouth dry and brittle. He fought the urge to hurry through his speech. He couldn’t show weakness, not now. “This was a ten year old girl. Her family came to California as part of the Gold Rush. They hadn’t done particularly well, but neither had they done particularly bad. Until they were attacked, torn apart, and eaten. But they still fared better than Emily here. She continues like this. Not alive, but not really dead.” He paused, looking at the delegates. He couldn’t read them very well. They probably couldn’t read themselves right now.

“The negroes have a word for this from their savage homeland. They call them, ‘zombies.’ They believe the dead can be reanimated through magic. But none of the negroes who have seen this know what to make of it, slave or free. It’s not the type of zombies they talk of in their legends.

“But make no mistake. This is not a legend. This is not a campfire ghost story to frighten young children or old squaws. This is deadly real.”

“All I see,” said Geronimo, “Is a white child covered in filth. Show me a monster, or admit your lies!”

“Can you not see?” said Captain Jim. He was almost shaking. “Would even the pale faces treat a child of their own people like a dog? Would a child look and act like that? I have seen these things fall on a brave by the dozens and tear him apart. And if a brave falls from a bite, his throat tore out as if by a dog, he will then rise up when he should not, and join the walking dead!”

“I ask only for proof,” repeated Geronimo.

“Prove it to yourself, then,” said Custer. “Take your gun and put a bullet in her heart. Or send one of your braves in to cut her throat. But I’ll tell you now, we will not let anyone out of that cage who has been bitten.”

“You’re mad!” shouted Kit Carson. Custer immediately realized it had been a mistake to not include the man in their plan. Kit Carson was well known in the West, and he was many things. But he was not the type of man who would allow a child to be killed in front of him while he could still draw breath.

“Mr. Carson!” Shouted Major Raines, standing. “You work for the US Army now, and you will follow orders!”

“To Hell with your orders!” said Carson and pulled his pistol. “I will not let a child be harmed by these savages, or by you!”

“Kit, look at me,” said Custer. This was something he could deal with, something normal. “Look at me.” When he had Carson’s gaze, he went on. “You and I knew each other back east fro a while. Not well, granted, but we aren’t strangers. Do you think I would be involved in the murder of a child?”

Carson looked uncertain. Geronimo interrupted, “If it was an Indian child, I know none of you pale faces would have a problem with killing a child. Or a village of children!”

“Which is why we looked for a white zombie. Because it is vitally important that we all work together on this.” Custer kept his eyes on Carson. “What would it take to convince you that we are serious about this, Kit?”

“I accept your challenge!” said Geronimo. All eyes turned to him, including Carson, and Major Raines hit Carson behind the ear with the butt of his pistol. Carson dropped to his knees and two guards disarmed him.

“Captain Jim,” said Custer, “Are you able to continue with translations until Mr. Carson is able? When Captain Jim nodded, Custer continued. “Which part of the challenge, Geronimo?”

“I will go up to the bars and put a bullet into the pale face child’s chest. That should take down any ‘monster.’” He started forward. He half expected to be stopped, but when no one barred his way, he approached the cage.

“Last chance to call off your game, pale face” he said as he passed Custer.

“If only it were that easy, red man.”

Geronimo place his Sharp’s rifle through the bars of the cage, resting it against a cross bar. He looked back at Custer, then to Raines, then to the guards, and finally back to Custer. Custer gestured dramatically to continue. Geronimo shrugged and sighted along the barrel at the girl.

“I am going to shoot you, girl,” he said. When she didn’t respond, he fired.

The gun’s retort was loud inside the room, and even some of the braves flinched when Geronimo fired. The bullet hit the girl square in the chest, and at a range of less than ten feet. She folded in on herself and stumbled backwards against the opposite wall of the cage.

Geronimo opened his mouth to say something, but the words were never uttered. They evaporated in his mouth as the girl straightened back up, looked around like a surprised animal, then ran at Geronimo, her teeth flashing in the light as her hair parted. Geronimo fired again, more in reflex than anything else, and the bullet tore a chunk from the girl’s shoulder. A blackish goo, similar to a newborn’s feces, splattered into the air from the wound, but the girl didn’t even slow down. She slammed against the bars, one hand reaching through the bars at Geronimo, her face and mouth thrashing against the bars. She growled like some starving creature from beyond the grave.

Geronimo dropped his rifle and stumbled backwards a few steps, then fell to a sitting position. Indians and soldiers alike were all standing, weapons drawn. One of the girls’s fingers was clearly broken, the bone protruding at an unnatural angle.

“Is that proof enough?” asked Custer. His voice was steady, but his hand was on the hand of his pistol. He forced himself to loosen his grip and leave his hands by his side. “Want to shoot her again? See what it takes to kill her?”

“No…no.” Geronimo stood. He kicked his gun closer with his foot, then picked it up. “And once bitten by this thing…”

“Once bitten, there is no cure. Live or die, you become one of these. If dead, the change is faster. It can take less than a minute. If alive, well, the body tries to fight off the poison for a while. Several hours if you have a high constitution. The longest I’ve seen has been twelve hours, by a man large enough to pick me up with his hands. He went through fever, sweats, vomiting. It was like a bad illness, but at the end blood came from his ears and his eyes, and he became one of them.”

“Sweet Jesus,” mumbled Carson, holding his head. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he seemed completely unaware. “God help us all.”

Geronimo slowly joined the other delegates. He talked in a low voice with his braves, and then the rest of the Indians gathered together. It was something Custer had never seen before. Normally the other tribes hated the Apache almost as much as they hated the white man. But today they huddled and talked as if they had been born from the same womb.

Finally Geronimo looked up. “We will return to our people and address our councils. I will recommend the alliance. The others will do the same. We will also recommend that if the US Army does not keep its word, we will burn everything in the West that can catch fire, and hope for the best. It is bad enough we have fought one evil, we can not fight two. And as much as I might wish that the pale face would suffer under this darkness they have unleashed in their own greed, it is a darkness that will surely engulf us all. We may have other terms, but we agree in spirit to your proposal.” The other delegates nodded.

“One question,” asked Lassic as they gathered up their belongings. Some would spend the night at the fort and start the long trip home at first light. Some wouldn’t wait and would want to put as much distance as possible between them and the dead girl currently clawing and spitting against the cage. “What would the US Army do if the Indian tribes decided not to help? If we all decided – and may still decide – to pull back and just leave the West to the pale face and his monsters?”

Custer considered the question before answering. Finally he decided on the truth. “We would pull back as well. Oh, we’d do our best to destroy as many of the damn things as we could, but California has taught us a lesson or two. We would fall back to the mountains and hope to stop them there. Build a wall into the mountains themselves. They don’t do as well in the cold. They become slower, sometimes trapped in the ice. It doesn’t kill them, but it makes it easier for us.”

“But that…that’s almost the entire West. You would give the monsters all of the West?”

“We wouldn’t give it. They would take it. But don’t misunderstand. It would not last forever. And they would find ways around the mountains. And one day every inch of this continent will be theirs.”

Lassic nodded again. He made such a simple gesture say so much. Slowly, with none of the bravado that had accompanied their arrival, they walked out of the room.

Custer felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. Not all of it, not by a long shot. California was still crawling with zombies, and it would take a lot of blood, sweat, and tears before the damn state could be walled, but it was a beginning. And maybe the US Army would keep its word to the Indians after the threat has passed. He felt it wouldn’t be that simple, but unless there was a way to end or cure the affliction, the United States couldn’t afford the risk. One day the wall they build might not be strong enough, or tall enough to hold back the swarms of rotting evil that would be pressing and clawing against it. And on that day they would need every able body they could get.

Custer knew one thing for certain. Evil was persistent enough in the West. But when it was combined with an insatiable hunger, it would never give up. And these zombies were just like that. They never gave up until you splattered their soft brains or separated the gunk from the rest of their body. They were lucky Geronimo had gone for the heart. A head shot would have killed the girl and ruined everything. And that would not have gone well. Custer wasn’t sure he could stomach the idea of infecting Geronimo to prove a point to the others. Raines was completely fine with the idea, but Custer held no specific hatred for the Indian. Not after seeing the things roaming through California.

And one day, hopefully not in his lifetime, the dead will find a way past the California Wall. And then they would have to find another way to deal with the problem.